Love is not a river,
nor a heartache, nor a gain,
not a flower, nor a hunger,
nor an endless aching pain.
It is not these things, no.
Love is a commitment
that you make to one another;
it’s a promise, an agreement
to be brother, father, lover.
To be friend, and foe.
To be them all in each their season;
past regret and nights alone,
past contentment, even reason,
to an end you cannot know.
Hand in hand together, go.
November 25, 2009 at 9:07 am
There is neither fame nor fortune to be made in poetry anymore. Just ask Leonard Cohen, who turned to singing just to make a living. Yet there is still some satisfaction in saying just what you wanted to say in a lasting way; something in the economy and significance of words that still draws me in to write the occasional thought in verse. This one is for Pam.
December 3, 2009 at 12:25 pm
this is awesome.
December 6, 2009 at 1:17 am
Brooke:
How kind of you to say so. Do you write poetry yourself?
Steve