Wednesday, April 23, 2014

The World Doesn't Need Another Love Poem

Most analogies and metaphors are useless
when it comes to describing the feeling of love.
They fall short because of the overwhelming 
force with which love occupies the very organs
of the body- bonding to platelets, and eventually
seeping into the marrow within the rigid frame
work of the skeletal system. Once this is achieved
thoughts begin to soar with the grandiose dreams 
of so many lovers from every past age, as if love 
were a force being reincarnated from one life 
to another, a ceaseless and essential function 
included with every life. Automobile manufacturers 
describe this as being a standard part of the package. 
Love is no automobile to be driven for the sake 
of practicality and fuel efficiency. It is a fearless 
force that occupies wholly and could care less about 
how many miles per gallon your vehicle gets.
If love were a car it would an American 
muscle car, curved metal begging to feel the wind
on a summer morning, V-8 engine sucking up
every ounce of gas in order to roar across freeways
and back roads with the kind of abandon you felt
as a child the first time you ran across the sand
to feel the ocean, cold and powerful, touching
your small feet and soaking you with a chill
far greater than the coldest water in the bathtub
at home. Love is a power that realigns perception 
of ones true relation to the world. Love is more 
than flesh, far more than a car, and an equal 
to the forces of water, wind, earth, and fire. 
Love is content to not have to worry about how 
to describe itself. It knows it needs no introduction.
Love makes appearances at just the right time,
like a guest at a party who shows up just late
enough to bring up the mood, especially 
because they happened to bring a healthy
sized bottle of top shelf liquor that most people
never have enough money to splurge on
for themselves, let alone bring to a party.
Love is beyond my comprehension to describe
but I figured it was worth a shot. Love made
me do this. The memory of love made me
do this. Love willed this. Love doesn't mind
another attempt to describe it. It's all harmless,
perhaps moving. Love will send me to bed
and remind of the one I love through every
dream I'll forget upon waking. I will feel for her 
body, when my hand fails to touch the skin 
on her hip I will begin my day knowing 
there is a much greater distance to cross. 
Love will compel me forward.


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