It’s coming up to that day, you know the one, when it’s all about love. So here’s a love poem I wrote far back enough in the past that I have no more attachment to the circumstances in which it was written. I just pulled it out and worked on making it better. Maybe it is.
Singing for You
Singing for you
Singing you
Every cell of mine
Hums your wild soul
And in my bones
Where the marrow rings
I remember
How to dance you effortlessly
I echo, I call
Resonate you in your hands
Falling cords, shimmering through
The music my spirit brushes
In the dark
I shine, shine, shine
All radiant you
The misty glow of distant shores
The strings attuned to only this
Steadfast wonder
Undying hour
Chatter of silence, color of our laughter
every atom of my being
Pulsing and repeating
Across the knot of time
A harmony of change and completion
Shatters me
And on and on soars this love
Its threads entwine a single melody
Weaving us in song
The Sound of What Happens 
You’ve certainly captured beautifully how we think love is. It’s terrible when you consider how you can have such glorious feelings for a particular person for a while and later feel nothing at all.
Thanks, Jane. Well in this case it was very much for the best. 🙂 But yes, it’s strange, and I’ve noticed is almost exclusive to romantic love, how prone it is to extremes: incredible passion and expansiveness, joy, then searing pain or absolute indifference when it doesn’t work out. I’ve never experienced that with other forms of love.
I think you’re right there. Why I can’t get enthusiastic about love poetry that fixates on youth, beauty and the physical aspect. Too much of what we think of as love when we’re young is just hormones and fantasy. True love is deeper, comes later, when a couple has faced a few obstacles together. My opinion anyway.
Beautiful and romantic, Éilis! And I agree with what you both said. When you’re young you look at the love older people have and think ‘thats not love! Thats not what I want!’ But you have absolutely no concept of the deep emotions that are left once the passion has burned off. It doesnt need snogs and constant hands on to express itself. Its a language invisible to the young.
Thank you Ali! You are so right.