Old Love, the kind that feels
like a river or a rainstorm
sending a much needed
flood
Old Love, that is the
promised spring and the open
ocean, already there, always
there
When we first meet
Old Love, Alone never existed
Drawn together, the rainbow
the bridge, the empty cup
of willingness
and creation and flames
of homecoming
Old Love sends messages, lessons from
other life times, where duty
and desire, dying and living
come into balance, where pain
and healing dance that almighty
dance, in small inconsequential
steps and massive masterpieces
Old Love holds us prisoner
escape is futile, or deeper than
truth, every thought binds
a catastrophe, a passion
a vast life of reunions
a vast remembering of What
Once Was, as if denying
What is
Old Love can bleed
and bleed the heart into
Existence, it is a scratch
that takes ten thousand
lives. To heal Old Love is the same
muscle memory that finds us
Old Love is abundant (listen to the
Waves, they don’t stop purring)
Old Love can shout Stop!
Let’s create! A dance entirely new
and untasted. Yes, Old Love
is abundant in choices, in
every moment. Paradise and
personal prisons co existing because
this is the nature of life
This is the nature Old Love
has taken; to say everything
and everyone is contained
within me, the best and the
worst can be met here, and
when I am willing, ready or
utterly desperate, Old Love
dies, into itself, supernova Love
returning, remembering
that which is deeper than truth
Old Love is reminding me something
Something of great significance
