Utopians are unrepentant monsters. The
perfect is the perfect rationale. O send us serial killers,
rapists, gangsters, Preferably to "should" becoming
"shall"! In those who seek to make their visions
real, A rage becomes the furnace of their zeal; Nor
can they love, who would impose their will, Sure enough of
paradise to kill.
IN LEAVING YOU, I TURNED AWAY
FROM PASSION
In leaving you, I turned away from
passion So that my conscience still might spare my
heart. Though paradise has never been my fashion, I
cannot stand your pain now we're apart. Love does not leave
when it is bid farewell, Looking back to wave one last
goodbye. Love stays, though vow and circumstance
compel One to ignore its unrepentant cry. Vases
hold the loveliest of flowers Even as they open, bloom, and
fade; You and I must hold our sweetest hours, Of
hope and need and fierce, fierce pleasure made, Until they
vanish in the darkening shade.
LOVE LINGERS IN THE
ALLEYWAYS
Love lingers in the alleyways And
wafts across the streets, And knocks upon my double
doors But never does come in.
Love finds
a home in entranceways And rattles round retreats, And
scurries past the faint applause Just two doors down from
sin.
Ah! Would I love would I but know What
love might have in store! For I have fears of heavy
chains That jangle in my joy.
And I have
fears of floods that flow From asking life for
more. Silent, I prefer the gains Such tempests
would destroy.
HER LIFE WAS NOT AS GLORIOUS AS
SOME
Her life was not as glorious as
some, Devoted to her children and their children, Taken
up by quiet tedium: What's left when dreams are scattered to
the wind. She loved too well, perhaps, and fought too
hard To make a marriage work that wasn't right. She
was, of all bright loveliness, a shard Struck off to bring
our lives the gift of light. There are those whose lives are
shaped by love; Whose pleasures, rich and full, are found in
giving; Who make our wild hearts bloom and passions
move Into measured fields made lush by living. Without
her all the gold's gone from the day; She will be missed far
more than we can say.
I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M
MARRYING/ MY GRANDMA'S PAPER BOY
I can't believe
I'm marrying My grandma's paperboy! She said that
you were "dreamy" And the sort I would
enjoy.
My grandma! Well, I humored her And
took a look at you, And saw, those many years ago, That
what she said was true.
But not so fast, because
we lived A continent apart, And were too young to
comprehend The wisdom of the heart.
We
needed time to grow into The truth that we had seen, And
let some others stampede through The years that came
between.
But Grandma always said that you Were
just the one for me, And now we are all gathered here To
publicly agree!
How often can we say that
love Was truly at first sight? But since I first
laid eyes on you, I've known Grandma was
right!
PLEASE DON'T MIND IF I MAKE LOVE TO
YOU
Please don't mind if I make love to
you Imagining another in my arms. No one special -
anyone will do Whose claims have not yet sanitized her
charms. Lust loves not love, but finds its joy in
power: To stir someone to sunlit ecstasy; To
purchase someone's person by the hour; To force the flesh to
yield the fantasy. Love loves not lust, but finds its joy in
giving: Pleasure, yes, but passion slowly
fades. Affection, yes, but one needs more from
living: The knife-sharp edge of lust that love
betrays. Give then, my love, the flesh that spurs the
dream, As I for you, that lust might love
redeem.
SINGING AT THE CENTER OF YOUR
SOUL
Singing at the center of your soul, Long
may you dance across your inner stage, Regarding neither
rectitude nor rage, Pursuing neither destiny nor
goal.
Suffering is nothing but the road: You,
the traveler, are sheer delight, A little wisp of lovely,
lilting light Torn from a joy that pain cannot
corrode.
Be, then, whatever person time will
tell. Do what reason and the heart deem good. Take
whatever will or fortune would, Always west of heaven, east
of hell.
Within, you are more beautiful than
you Can ever comprehend, though you can feel A
wonder and a passion that are real, Wandering like a wind
through what you do.
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