Affection’s Poetry

My love’s soft water laps against my heart

Wearing away the wearying walls of an old energy – a force that no longer thrives

Time allows erosion of pain, and wooded hillsides

We cling, like the trees.

We fear.

But as the forest fire must take the trees for new life to spring,

So must we let go of the eroded soil of pain. LET her walls crumble!

LET them fall, long before Jericho…

No trumpet’s blare will breach these walls;

They’ll be gone ‘ere its arrival

Breathe…. Deep… moisten your insides with freshness

Dewy springdrops ‘pon leafy green rain

Dense and soft the misty mist of the baby, ancient forest, primeval

Soft rustle of ‘corns, not far, shimmers the glade

And as the single proud standards sported ‘pon their noblest of noses

So the bud, the single tender bud of baby, ancient self does push its sweet pink head through life. Itself.

Again you can see your soul reflected in the pool from which you stop to drink – and stay, locked with highest self in a gaze of recognition

Works of hugs present their sacred selves through tendrils of love twisting greenly in your arms

And round yourself go those very arms

And as you wrap up in a loving gaze with highest self in softest hug, you become

And clasping shoulders of your very own, with the gentlest tug, up you joyously pull!

Up! Up! a magic beanstalk of a soul!

That catapults you into Whitman’s Wing of Galaxy, the Plato Place,

Shakespeare’s Own Idea of Perfect Paradise

Penned in your footfalls on the earth and sky.