my love
my dove
my hope in dreams
loved me
she loved me
for her own part
she loved me
& in a tantrum of despair
she left me
she bid that I should go
& that I should go forever
& still
she wanted to call me her own
teasing & tantalizing with half-truths
I beckoned interior strength to move
I did leave her physically
I separated & traveled away
but the I
the part of my heart
that is me
I confess
did not leave her
but suffered abandonment
that would take time to heal & see
I did not wane or cry
though I suffered thorns & lashes
& yet I thought it well
to play the part of living in hell
a foolish & ignorant idea
that I could not see
then one day 42 years later
I came to understand why
it is impossible to apprehend
the idea that by which we love
or the shade that by which we desire
for true love comes from above & in faith &
unto death do we peruse the object of our love
for in its union we are not two but one
& the falling gray of the veil of sight
becomes insight illuminated by truth
a truth that by which ideas
represent images in mind
whereby we form
concepts to hold
& to view as sublime
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Author Notes
Life lived is a strange matter even for our fictional characters who have played out this scene since time immemorial; believing that they love, when they are only in love; with the idea of love, that by which they love, not knowing that the idea of love cannot ever be apprehended; yet, it is the means, that by which we love.
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