As a child, I dreamed of love.
It's purity stemming from illusion,
kisses and bleeding beating heart,
Mended by promising thrills
of happiness ever after.
I believed Elizabeth, counting
the ways of loving, greater
maybe even after death.
Now, lightly clouded by illusion still,
love more clearly is revealed, devoid
of frills, of lusty signs, quixotic reveries.
I have seen relationship's complexities
kill repeatedly, limitations of emotion
leading to love's collapse, leaving a void
to be filled by destruction... or life,
resilience contained in vows by choice
unbroken, open to rebirth.
No longer a child, I know
no novel story can recount truth,
of love and time and matrimony.
Not even god of poets can aptly portray
the joy of love and sometimes,
it's lacking glory.
I know, rediscovering
time upon endless time, that
I chose you,
to give my imperfect love, gratefully
I accept your patient, kind reciprocation,
and strongly I suspect
that our LOVE, like infinity,
will have no end.
(Submitted to Poets United.)
I had a wedding anniversary this week. After 43 years (I was a child bride!), I can honestly say that hubby and I are closer, more in tune with what's important, real and truly loving. Romance still lives. Possibly, due to the struggles and challenges we've survived, and unlike romantic notions of youth, it has a deeper, more genuine affection.