Its
life and pain, and joys and rain, to mold for excellence; its constant
application! I see a house, filled
with gems, filled with subtle agitation; the angst of success, that pillar of
yearning, that world of ceilings and caves; but love is gentle, to walk the
storm, fevered and frightened.
While young—we know of love—this complex
entity; but oh for simplicity, to laugh and grow, rarely snowed in, feasting
with merriments. This is epoch love;
to grip for clouds—that shy of knowing; where this is life: to share in revelry,
carousing through the nights.
We
spin through trials, as middle aged souls, attuned to the jaded aspects; that
subtle voice, to visit confession, to mourn a venial sin; to love come
darkness, as heart-filled as baby kittens, etching sunshine. We
love with caution, until caution runs thin—the pivot of our love.
When older, we live in unison, a body
composed of parts: shifting through hurts, molded in conversation, to share our
deepest fears. The two become one: to feel as she feels, to dance as he dances;
in which for identity, to pull at oneself, to realize a pure reflection.
