I wrote these words not knowing who for,
And never spoke them aloud until I was sure,
Now I know they are for you to hear,
I hope to your ear they are simple and clear:
I wrapped a circle around the universe without and within,
And placed on your finger my hope of salvation from Ego’s false sin,
That together our souls might take flight,
Soaring through this fantasy of color and light,
A dream of the pain of birth and the loss of death,
Of old age, when reminisces of friends now gone is all that’s left,
Of the joy of adventure and of daughters and sons,
Until hand in hand, we return to where it ended before and was begun,
And we awake, the memory of our future fading to an eternal white,
Beyond smell, taste, touch, sound or sight,
Beyond time we will walk as one, until I ask that we sleep once more,
Just so that I may tell you I love you again, as I loved you before.
An interesting thought, one that didn't cross my mind when I wrote it. You could say that there is no more important relationship than the one that you have with your own mind, with your thoughts, with yourself. The very act of writing, a poem or a story or anything, is really an exercise in talking with yourself. The object of love could be external, or it could be internal, because in the end all love comes from the same place, right?
ReplyDeleteTo me, the spirit of the poem is the affirmation of life as an opportunity to love, whatever that might mean or wherever that might take you.