it’s the type of love story
where you’re happy in love
and there’s no reason
to leave
yet
your soul is screaming
you away
as the chilly whisper
and because you aren’t
conscious or brave
you act in a manner
that brings you shame
and a hunt begins
so far away and deeply
within, to allow you to redeem
or balance the pain
and in your stubbornness
a miracle healer
skirts around the plot
subtly plucking away your beliefs
and life
it is that kind of a love story
~
what happens when love
is defined by someone else
and dreams are made
in the eyes of a beholder
what happens when faith
becomes entwined
with a sated soul
and someone else
wants something else
what happens when god
intervenes and then lets
us ride our way back
alone
what happens when every
passage and message
from yesterday threatens to sink
in a harbour we once called home
what happens when …
it is that kind of a love story
~
it is the absence of
it is the unknown quantity
it is the shattering of god
and with it, faith and hope
where love is not
there is not peace
there is survival
and an attempt to play
the game, however odd
and frustrating it may seem
there are new questions
and new fantasies
arise to keep comfort
the lonely aloneness
and there is a new colour
in love, a sisterhood
kind of texture
sitting comfortably in bed
late into the night
hearing all her voices
and delighting in her own power
it is in the absence of man
that I allow
man and god to be disowned
it is that kind of a love story
~
life returns to life
a damaged heart returns
to the play that eroded
her purity
there is only space for open
secrets and growling
the might of ancient fires
into wet wounds
life returns to life
in a healing so orchestrated
in clockwork and grace
and grace unfolds
her purity back to herself
comforting kisses
allow for the massive
transformation as
love returns to life
sacred heart
opening, yes
it is that kind of a love story
~
there is no definition for
what I call love
in this story
it’s beyond my recognition
of relationship
it is now only a deep
space to inhabit
with a wonky seat
that I fall off
time and time again
it is that kind of a love story
~
an unrecognisable quantity
becomes a known quality
like mittens or slippers
finding it not so odd without their pair
but finding it comforting to be
keeping a hand or foot warm
knowing their purpose is served
and serving altogether
a divine light
(even in the harsh glare)
the comfort of being
and the glare of being
allows the intimate
to become the divine
allows the individual
to shine and merge
a complex alchemy;
creative and creation
not quite synonymous
it is that kind of a love story
Beautiful