Love

  Tis love not worthy of silent expression, of thought, touch and deed?  Utterance of words can be tainted just as the orange poppy in the rolling fields.  Its beauty speaks loud and sweet, but its contents deadly to those whom dare behold it.

    Love's purity is told much truer by the caress of a lover's touch.  For the feather touch of a woman's fingers running over her knight's shoulders proves love's longing to draw the two bodies together as one.

    Yet, love is a slave unto its self.  For it is as fickle as the
changing winds, with jealousy, compassion, haste, and patience.
    So, be wary if love speaks to your ears.  For jealous love will shatter even a heart forged of the strongest metal into a multitude of pieces.  It leaves the owner of the heart not wanting and cold to even the thought of loving again.

    So I pray, to you, if love does not open its mouth to you and speak to your ears; do not damn the mouth of your lover, nor your ears or love....but rather take the silk cloth from a top of your own eyes and gaze at love's silent beauty speaking volumes to all that will lend their whole being.

~Laura L. Allen-Besser~
  December 2001

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