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To write of love
 

To write of love is to risk all without risking

Anything, to tell all without fear of comeback

Or consequence. To fall in and out of love

On a whim. To lay beside a beautiful woman

Or weep at the bedside of a dying child. It

Makes no difference the pen is immune; you

Are in charge of the pen and pen does your

Bidding. Scrapes there may be but escape

Hatches are everywhere

 

To write of love is to take command of love

To do with it as one will. To give the heart a

Run for its money that place where pain and

Pleasure live together. Nights interspersed by

Intervals of incandescent connexion before

Once again returning to the pitiful lodgings of

Uncertainty and misgiving. But where would

Love be without doubt and uncertainty? Those

Two guardians of the heart who see to it that a

Lady will be wooed and the suitor kept, for the

Most part, in slippery suspension

 

To write of love is to journey back in time

Especially when the world has done with you

And love has too. What better place then than

Memories of an old love now known to be

Alone and for whom something at the back of

The heart still remains. Time it would appear

Has healed or perhaps unkindly, any port in a

Storm will do, giving fresh legs to a past that

May now appear far more attractive than a

Lonely future – whatever the price

 

©Joseph G Dawson
17/02/2017

 





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