Linguistics of Love

What is love? How can it be just one single emotion, when it comes with so many more tacked on? A poem in seven parts.


Let my tears flood the river,
Only if I will them
To pour at all;
If the fire burns my halls-
Entire buildings alight-
It burns simply for its own stage,
For I have let the flames
Consume my midnight play.
In midday, the options broaden
Like the flitter of glass against
The stirring rustle of newsprint,
In too much sunlight burning;
Sayings claim that mankind
Is whelmed only by material weakness;
I disagree.
Man’s effervescing foe-
Second only to the beat of time-
Is love,
That love which
The coldest heart has fallen under,
Twisted and changed,
To poetry it alters its range;
And that touch which brings
The Institute of Man
To its knees,
Also winds the spirit
Around the best of women,
Mutation to whimpering girls,
Not least for it to seem to me
The miracle when I was lost-
I had lost my life
To depressive strife-
But in more than mania,
The river runs across aisles.

The End

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