Imagine a love that cannot be tarnished,
not even by us.
We messed the beauty we had,
with our switchbacks.
I demonize you; you decry me as a crazed woman.
We wouldn't speak to each other; my fury unabated
fierce.
You were a sleazy cheat; I was self-righteous, indignant.
What is this love that continues despite our resistance?
Surely not modern love, with its questionings, choices.
But some ancient love, as old as the gold sun itself,
primal, spiritual, enfolding its mystery.
What is a love that cannot fail itself?
And how can we trust it?
It is strange not to be fighting you
like a bad obsession, like an addiction to street drugs.
To accept your irrefutable, irrevocable
presence in my life.
The forever clause,
it's caught us
darling.
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
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Woman with Flowers 7.1
(7th sketch in series, first iteration of this one) Woman with Flowers Flowers, props upholding the woman. The flowers, fragrant, imaginar...
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Sometimes love is like a heroin.
ReplyDeleteThere can be no doubt.
Some need many lovers to feel they have love. For others, like us, the spirit of the Goose, nurturing, protective, loyal...
It can be painful. Anguish.
Sometimes, I think: And what was I to learn here, from this? From all the others gone by the wayside before?
It is good to release. To experience each nuance of the wounding fully...and then, we become the Pearl...luminous against all that sand and salt.
Powerfully intense composition, illustrating the theme quite well.
Blessings~