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To write of love To write of love is to appear 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 you 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.
Legs, limbs and other things, beauty Half exposed is often better than the Naked truth and this is where, for the Connoisseur, ‘To write of love’ comes Into it’s own and where delicately Crafted undertones draw the mind into Seeing things that are not there and Have certainly not been said, but have Been accurately and succinctly felt By the reader, who is left in no doubt As to the intentions of the author.
To write of love may be to journey Back in time, especially when the World has done with you and love Has too. Where better 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 look far more attractive Than a lonely future - whatever the
Price.
© Joseph G Dawson Vote for this poem
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