The Biographies of Love: Poem IV
Love presents herself to us
yet we know not her face
A newborn babe more wise than our eldest in age
born innocent to infamy
and humble to great fame
Learn her true visage
and you’ll be her sincerest claim
And when she finally returns to your lonely corner,
hold her to your bare chest evolve together
Never let her escape until she flies far on her own,
A soul of useless pieces can make a fine nest for love.
The Biographies of Love: Poem II
An ancient discovery of hope
glistening like raining diamonds in the sun,
poised in the sands of bustling shores,
Love is simple to find,
contrary to popular wisdom,
But she can be awfully difficult to recognize,
if recognized at all by blackened hearts, closed minds and solemn eyes
The Biographies of Love: Poem I
the gift we all crave and desire
the face that sells every romantic story or novel
whispering sweet lullabies to a glowing child and mother
catching millions of dreams offered to the heavens each night,
no matter our weather
A shapeless fragment of ageless souls traveling the universe quietly in dance and song
What life has to offer mankind is surely what Love has in store
Don’t do that to me
Don’t sit there frozen at the edge of your seat
As I’m waiting for your magical pounce
Take the edge off my misery
It’s like waking up to every breakfast food of your greatest delight. The aroma let’s you taste it before it even hits your eyes.
The texture of your eggs. Just right.
The burntness of your meat. Just right.
The fluff of your flapjacks. Just right.
Hand me the golden fork and knife.
It’s like walking out to a morning coastline, even though you know the closest beach is a million miles away in your mind.
The wind against your skin. Just right.
The smell of the salty seas. Just right.
The warmth of the sun’s glow. Just right.
Why can’t this life by the sea be mine?
It’s like walking down the most intriguing street. Meeting the strange and stranger, the friendly and familiar. Noticing the brilliance of surrounding architecture.
The colors around you. Just right.
The songs flowing from the jazz bar. Just right.
The way it feels like Neverland and home all at the same time. Just right.
Where has this side of town been all your life?
It’s the way you make me feel right at home, even when I’m across an ocean. It’s not waking by the sea, but to Love in my corner again. It’s the way you dance night and day, deep inside my head.
Your colorful, beautiful mind. Just right.
The richness of your beating heart. Just right.
The life you brought to revive mine. Just right.
And when my dreams choose not to come out in the light, there’s a dream to hold when I awake. And that makes life just right.
You make me look like a fool
I find myself missing even the evil things you do
I have never been as angry as I’ve been with you
But I’ve never loved like this before
the way that I love you.
Handle the Truth. Handle it well.
The thing about the basic, innate Truth in human life is that it doesn’t have to be dissected and translated and altered a thousand times over. It doesn’t require an instruction manual, and a vast system designed to interpret and distribute it. It doesn’t have to be offensively fought about. Happiness, Respect, Courage, and Kindness exist in various forms in all cultures, which makes our ability to have those things a basic Truth.
Though it is somewhat of a rare being, when it shows up It is instantly recognizable and understood. But after being presented with the Truth, the human is left with the choice of acknowledging or ignoring it.
No matter what culture you are a part of you are living and breathing, and stuck to the ground by nature like the rest of us.
It’s a universal Truth that we need oxygen to survive, instantly recognizable and vital to the body and soul. After such a Truth is presented, the person is left with a choice to acknowledge it and reap its plentiful benefits or ignore the need by doing otherwise. These things could be smoking, pumping toxic fumes and chemicals into the air or other activities that dangerously deprive the body of oxygen, the pure element and source for each breath, or contaminate and pollute it in the air.
People enjoy living in lies and fairytales because they’re in (or at least they believe they’re in) control of their own story and destiny. It’s much like the feeling of control humans have for their emotions by sacrificing their health for cigarettes or for their mode of transit by filling their vehicles with petroleum. Both work very well as tools, but are causing their slow suffocation. Thus, if you’re not friends with Karma, the mysterious Universal art that loosely dictates your input based on your output, or if you fail to emit clean emissions and vibrations inside and beyond the soul, just wait til the Truth of life crashes into you.
No matter which route the Truth takes, if it is your Truth, the delivery to your precise doorstep will be made.
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