The Angel and I

Talk me of love.

Love, love? Love you say?

Why, good sir, love is a figment of the mind

For those suffering with heartburn and are perhaps

A little blind in the right eye. Love does not exist

In the human persona, it is a scientific reaction

And so on, so forth. Such waffle, causing nothing

But trouble.

Hark at you! Old goat, old fool. Look to this girl.

A girl? What girl? I see a Lady, in her prime. Surely

This Lady is too wise a lady to fall for love?

Aha! A lady of love she is, a lady of the most

Pure love, true love. Her thoughts are bliss

Yet wise. Knowledge talks but she listens.

She does ponder anon, is this love? Yes!

It is, it is, it is. This is love. This moment of

Heaven, this funny feeling here – in the heart

Yet it spreads to the mind like a medicine.

A surety, contentment, yet the wildest joys

Unlocked by a boy. Who knew such a boy

Had a key to paradise?

A boy! A mere boy? Poppycock. Where is this boy

Seeming more an Angel, disguised as a saint. No

Mere mortal can make such a lady feel so fine

My lady, come to me. Talk me of love?

Aside I say, look how those eyes shine

And the parted lips bloom. A gargle, a cheep

So sweet you’d have thought she’d kissed

A peach so tenderly, so softly, it melted on her mouth.

Good lady, do entreat my ears.

I love

I love like

I love like I lost my soul to the hands of an Angel.

So wonderful is he, so tender is he. Like a cloud

Of pillows pluck from the softest tree. This is me, I say

And this is he. We are but one, yet two of a kind.

We are what we appear to be. He owes me nothing

Yet I owe him my life, my soul, my heart. I am his,

Not in shackles or chains, but with ribbons tied so carefully

Wrapped around the wrist, spreading up, up, up! All the way

To the very darkest corner. Oh alas, call me a fool, I am not.

I am the wisest fool to fall for love, yet in love did I fall.

Tell me sirs, are you happy? Are you free? With my darling

I am so, to watch him go I fear would bring about a change.

Perhaps the winds would not blow nor the rains descend to you

Yet to one in love, to be without, is to be without air.

If life was not fair, and tis’ so rarely, I would not know of love.

Yet life is not fair, tis’ not even just. For now I know love

His love is what I cannot live without.

How the old man sleeps, away in a world of slumber.

Does he dream?

Nay, one can only dream if Angels whisper in

Delicate ears. It appears that only books and tools

Provide knowledge and strength, for not in a dream

Can paper and pens provide words one can deem?

You are so assured, how be this so?

Why? Because I love, tis’ only fools whom

Suffer the ignorance of the love they forgo.

We live, we could never die

Full of love, that is

The Angel and I