Love is a fickle thing.
To some a burning desire,
a trail of fire that inflames the soul,
and to others, a delicate rose petal hanging
on to its sepal, unsure when it will fade.
At times hesitant, the very mention
of the word might cause it to dissipate
like the morning fog.
Alfred once wrote that it’s better
to have loved and lost than never
to have loved at all, and I wonder about
all those who keep playing this game
and losing. I’ve loved, and I’ve lost,
even tried the self-love two-step,
yet I found that love, much like the tango,
is best danced with another.
I look to the night skies and see the vastness
of space, and know the definitions of love
are as innumerable as the stars.
In the end, love is what love is to me,
and I will let it flow like a river wild,
spreading across the lands in search
of banks strong enough to contain
the torrential waters of my heart.
I could say "I love you,"
but would my words convey
the depth and breadth
of a thousand lovers? What if I were
to speak them in my native tongue,
"Ti amo," would it be as though Cupid
himself were holding you in his arms?
Words are just words if they don’t
carry the weight of meaning,
and I mean to love you.
Do you remember that night?
Your smile was radiant, a glow
envied by the gods. Your laughter,
ever contagious, filled the room
like a warm summer breeze. You
glanced at me several times before
I mustered the courage to return
the gaze. And when our eyes
locked, the embers of my heart
stirred, and my life was set ablaze.
I did not choose to love
out of obligation, or some chivalrous
duty to care for a woman;
nor did i choose so i‘d have
someone to warm my bed
on winter’s bleak nights.
No, listen to my voice, amore mio,
my love, for it carries the depth
and breadth of Cupid’s passion,
of all the lovers who’ve come before,
and who have yet to be struck
by your dazzling beauty.
I chose to love because your
gaze sparkled and shimmered
like the velvety sands of Marina
di Pescoluse, and your sultry
words reminded me of the Ponente
breezes of southern Italy.
Listen, tesoro mio, my treasure,
I chose to love because without
you my world would crumble,
and be swallowed up by the seas,
for I could not bear to live another day
without those glittering green eyes.
Relentless rain batters the home,
blurring the world beyond.
I gaze out vacantly, a small window
into the grand scheme of things.
My mind lets in a deluge of thoughts,
each dissolving into the next,
a formless puddle of anxiety
collecting beneath.
The feeder sways in the yard,
such a lonely perch. Do birds not eat
in the rain? Do raindrops ever find
the same place twice? These are trivialities,
my mind too cluttered to focus
on the true sources of my unrest.
Will I be alright?
Will we weather this storm?
My heart thumps a frantic
rhythm. Why do we bother to love?
Why subject the heart to potential
agony? Love leads to the reshaping
of self. Sometimes, we shed things
better left behind. In the compromise,
we chance to lose integral
parts of our being.
A sudden ring shatters
my mental ramblings. A friend,
her world gone dark, speaks
of hope alone in a hospital bed.
My woes shrink in the face
of her strength. I know the rain
will pass, and the sun will
light the path before us.
Love is never wasted, for its value does not rest upon reciprocity. — C.S. Lewis
I felt your fire breathing
from across the room. The closer
I ventured, more profound its fervor.
Powerless to resist, my soul seared
in a heated embrace. Though
scorched I may be, better to endure
a thousand fiery deaths than live
another night in the cold.
There are more than three thousand
sensory neurons in a single fingertip,
nerve endings that send some of the
strongest signals back to the brain.
When my fingers trace the curves
of your body, it ignites every neuron,
transmitting a wildfire of sensations,
burning everything in its wake.
You are my red cardinal
in the midst of winter,
perched on the delicate branch
of my birch tree, singing
a song of love and devotion.
Our bodies entwined
beneath the blanket
I'd laid by the roaring fire,
the lust still clung, glistening
in the flame's glow. Your warmth
seeped into my heart,
and I vanished into the night,
voyaging the starry skies,
zooming past constellations,
seeking the origin
of your dazzling light,
a beauty not of this world.
And so it began,
the gentle fading of love,
an oil painting centuries
old left out in the sun for
one too many seasons. Cracks
meander across the painted
woven hemp, and pigments
of bright colors that once
danced on the canvas now rest
in hues of grays and browns.
There wasn’t a defining
moment, a fragment of time
that we could point to and say
that’s when it unraveled.
It was barely perceptible,
you gradually retreated
into silence when I needed
you to speak, and i waited
breathlessly for the gentle
caress that would never come.
Restoration efforts take
time, and we were in
short supply. Every grain
of sand had plunged to
the bottom bulb, decisions
were set in stone and we
went our separate ways.
The portrait now sits collecting
dust in the place where
love goes to be forgotten.
The first note was all it took.
Then came the pluck of the strings,
and the world dissolved
as I focused on your song,
a sweet awakening of the heart.
Harmonies cascaded, echoing
within my cavernous chamber
where nobody dares tread,
yet your music found the doorway,
and without delay, I opened.
Love came to me
on the wings of a gentle
breeze, words spoken
in a language long-vanished,
last heard when laughter
filled these cavernous halls.
She cradled me and whispered,
‘you are not alone.’
I recall the evening
when our eyes first met,
though not the initial meeting,
it was the moment when the tranquil
night sky erupted. Our galaxies converged
and lit up the universe, countless stars
intertwined with vividly hued clouds
of dust and gas, all locked in a tidal attraction,
the gravitational pull an unstoppable force,
the cosmic collision a dazzling display,
forever changing the very
essence of our being.
They say the sun shines brightest
in Belle Mare, where the sky is painted
with the bluest of hues. Cool ocean breezes
tickle the skin there, and waves sound
on the crystalline white sands in rhythmic
succession, a soothing melody.
I remember when I first touched the cool,
marbled surface worn over the ages,
tracing mortar between terracotta bricks,
recalling history in every course.
Il Colosseo, a feat of engineering,
that still marvels the eyes today.
Its roar can be heard from afar, the golden
falls of Gullfoss transformed in the light.
The sun radiates brilliantly on the glacial waters,
rainbow skies form in the mist,
framing a vision beyond imagination,
a stunning display of nature’s raw power.
I don’t claim to have seen it all;
there are not enough years in a lifetime.
I’ve been here and there, beheld wonders
of immense beauty. Yet in my many travels,
I can confidently say that loving you
is my favorite place to be.
You loved me
like a glorious summer storm,
startling my world
as suddenly as the flash
of lightning heralding the rumble.
Weighted skies opened up,
floodgates unleashed a deluge
that engulfed all
I knew of love,
washing it away
in a torrent of crashing waves.
I am drenched, unrecognizable,
saturated by the warm waters
of your beauty,
yet as abruptly as you arrived,
you were gone,
and now I find myself
sorting through the rubble
you left behind.
Whispers in the Wind
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