Love..Hurt..Redemption.

Amare – Love.

Nocere – Hurt.

Redemptionis – Redemption.

*

Amare – Love.

Should it happen, that curiosity was to ask me,

What need drives you to write such turgid poetry,

I believe I’d be hard-pressed to give answer logically,

Except to say I am drive by a thread attached to me.

A thread invisible to the eye, words, emotions, symmetry..

That draws together feelings so difficult to explain in plain prosetry,

Ariadne’s golden thread through the labyrinth of relationships.

And in that eureka moment of discovery,

Everything changes..for in that instant,

What was dull..shines, tedious..exciting, mundane..delights,

All is turned on its head..one springs from bed,

Ready and keen to face the world..All is hooray!

Can there be enough hours in the day..?

Likewise is the love of so many things,

Be it country, family, culture.. that special occasion.

Surely it is that woven thread of sensitive familiarity,

The eyes, the soul, the heavenly spirituality,

That beckons the heart to risk all for companionship,

Lest a thing so precious is wrenched from our grasp!

That, is the best I can make of this mystery called “Love”.

*

Nocere – Hurt.

“It is dangerous to love too much”, my mother warned,

And I could see in her eyes a hungered look of forlorn,

For I wondered on such an unsolicited confidance,

Could it be from an experienced and hurtful incident,

Or warning to beware of too impulsive involvement?

It aches, the ending of a loving affair..it aches after all,

It aches, it aches and aches and aches and aches and aches..

But how to explain such conundrum when it in kind so enthrals,

Can it be that cautious doubt in restraining giving one’s all,

A kind of dread of associating too close lest it brings sad fall?

For with deepest love there comes packaging wrapped in fear,

Whom among us is so cocksure of their being so revered..

So that when the hurt comes we’re not so quick to censure.

For it does hurt and hurt and hurt and hurt and hurt incessantly..

Regret, the condiment that burns the heart, tortures the memory.

To relive the moment best recalled that once sung so pleasantly,

The ecstasy fulfilled, the sweetness devoured, desire revealed!

Then to have it taken away in but a moment,

A misplaced word, misconstrued meaning, a foolish thing to blurt,

Gone now, left with nothing but static memory..and the hurt, the hurt.

*

Redemptionis – Redemption.

Sages of old did frame the line; ‘time heals all wounds’,

‘Tis a given to be gracious in wanting to be kind,

Spare the sinner, spare the song, spare the soul all along,

To purge the memory of how desire went so wrong,

Can we take it all back..redeem that which shouldn’t belong?

Did I tho’ not strive to give shape and form to that sin,

Held out as tempting promise by Eve ere life had just begun?

Is there for a whole man a more enthralling temptation,

Fain would regret, cast the entire memory away, seeking redemption?

But that would be lying, denying, allaying what was my intention,

For in truth, there’s enough memory there to inform a legion,

Of sinners and a portfolio of delights to satiate the sincerest voyeur.

Is there truly space in a man’s heart to accommodate redemption,

When in the next moment he suffers again, want and tempting,

Lest he so desires, that one cause, that holds his attention,

Driving his thoughts toward inevitable confrontation..

Mea culpa, mea culpa….mea voluntarium culpa!

With intentions seeking out the most voluptuous situations,

When all the while stumbling toward salacious attraction,

How..HOW, can one in such an impossible position pursue redemption?