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Music sketch, by Henri Matisse
Robert L. Martin

Love in the Autumn

As the new love bit into the loin,
a primal love coated with scented herbs
that took us into the wilds
that led the way through the rusty corridors
with flaming torches
extinguished after the love grew old,
the freshness blew away with summer’s wind
as it settled down into autumn’s yard.
 
It breathed a new breath that resurrected
from the ashes of the love burned out,
the love emptied of primal urges,
the wildness that brought us to
the relinquishment of the mind
for the sake of the feeling,
the torch that extinguished with the
chronicles of time.
 
Here we are devoid of the blindness
that took over from love’s first bite,
the call of the jungle, the untouched foilage,
the heavy streams, the pelting rain,
the veil that dropped over our wide eyes,
the urge that took over our desires,
that commanded us to follow its ways
and led us to our losing of ourselves
for the sake of love to let its
power devour us.
 
Here we are in the autumn of love,
back on the ground so we can feel
the stones under our tender feet
as the biting wind blew us back to earth,
our new land that all lovers have
to return to.
 
Our new love is a different love.,
a wanting and a need to
give unto each other,
and a moral obligation to fulfill,
our pledge we made as we
came back to earth.
 
So here we are, emissaries of the
guidelines of love and the keepers
of love’s sacred mandates
for the sake of future generations.

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