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November 30, 2011

I literally have nothing important to post this week: no real poetic thoughts have happened at all.  But I do have really bad old stuff! I was literally on a plane in a transcontinental flight when I wrote this out of nowhere. So consider this the spontaneous will o’ whisp of an eighteen year old girl whose grappling with the fact that she’ll be leaving all her high school friends come September. It’s interesting to compare to my love poetry now: this feels very angry and juvenile, though the basic precepts are the same.

True Love’s Manifesto

I think I find these truths to be self-evident:

Cupid is not blind.

If that were so how could Romeo have found his Juliet at the ball?

How could the mere sight of her rival all—even Rosaline—if dear Romeo were blind?

I think love is more of a selective sight—

it solely sees the beloved.

Stations, age, & guile appearance are thrown out a window, feebly crying on the ground.

The Capulet, the Montague: they simply don’t matter anymore.

But let me clarify:

true lovers feel they see the beloved’s inside—

the good and the bad.

They praise and revel in virtue and softly caress the faults.

“I love her because she is; I love her because she is not.”

They want the best for the other even if it means Breaking.

Everyone wants to be loved, accepted

even from a distance.

So the pieces of my heart are slowly melted and freely given.

And it is like a swallowed serrated sword when I leave

because the heart hurts when the body roams too far

and thus Juliet’s horror at “night’s candles are burnt out.”

Yet the priest says, “Do you dare to Love without limits?”


From → Poetry

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