Colin P. Fagan

Love is not an Automaton:
It is not a Nihilist,
It is not a Relativist,
It is not Erotic,
It is not a Kiss, nor Emotive Bliss.

To assume It is the give-and-take is folly;
Fools claim they haven’t the need.
Humanity holds It with jealous fingers:
They want It but aren’t willing to gain It.
Agenda’s call for It,
Blind acceptance is defined It,
Yet escapes them all.

Love is a mirror,
Reflecting our inability to give It.
We make promises, covenants,
And they destroy us.
Meant to create us,
We create them.
We create ourselves.

We made love.
Love made us.
We think ours is better.

Love is an Atmosphere,
Heavy on those who want It,
Destroying those who don’t.
It’s air makes our speech foolish,
The silence helps the heart sing.

Man is not Love,
Measure It not by my actions:
Greed.
Murder.
Pornographic.

Our love is a mausoleum of bronzed demagogues.

Love doesn’t lose hope when forgotten:
The hand bridges a canyon to a crumbling humanity,
It can help…if we are willing.
From our pedestals will we fall?

The souls cosmic chaos lunges for renewal,
Singing for restoration.
Love hangs,
Calling out.
It is willing to reject Itself,
Believing we will accept.
The atmosphere could save us:
Usher us into a world we didn’t create,
A world fashioned by unique hands.

The invitation has always been with us,
We just don’t want to answer.
Love stirs in and above eternity,
And we will continue to reject.

How long will Love bare with us?