Love is indeed hard to express. It can be light, full of bubbling laughter, or it can be dark, cruel to the point of obsession. The love you write is the most passionate, fervent of all. With it comes sunset and fresh air tinted with the scent of fruits. Great Write!
You are right, there are gradients of love in life. Love for your parents, siblings, significant other, friends and children. They are all different kinds of love hued in different lights and dipped in various flavors. The love I think you speak of here is that romantic love for the horizon is a wonderful metaphor with its vibrant colors or in this case lack thereof. We wait for love to peak over it and become more real and three dimensional as it approaches. There is an ache in this piece that flows so beautifully and is filled with such longing but the caveat is that you have yet to know. There is still time and that is a beautiful gift even when it hides behind the horizon out of sight. It will find you and it's hues will be brilliant much like this poem.
your ending note is so cool...i will embrace it...there is a wonderful acceptance in this...a rich past, a feeling of slipping away and a realization of love not dying no matter what my age has become...what better thing to be "Learning" than love...i like this a lot...your unique style comes thru..
E.
There are so many interpretations one could make with this poem, and I think therein lies the beauty of it. Some might see in your words a love lost, whether it is a person or something else precious and unique to a person.
I read a little of the frustration of being a writer in the words:
"but I find only empty skies, when there should be clouds
softening the sinking glow of a stubborn sun."
How the glare hurts on occasion. The clouds twist into images which seem to beg for description... but where are they? Where have they gone? Something about losing the ability to describe things through the medium of writing. I think that's my a fear many a writer might have.
It could be so many other things. Loneliness, pain, or the yearning for truth in the universe.
There are many hues to this poem, and that's hard to do.
Well done, Girl Friday!
Posted 11 Years Ago
11 Years Ago
I'm glad you read this so deeply and intently, my friend. Your words truly do mean a lot, and it is.. read moreI'm glad you read this so deeply and intently, my friend. Your words truly do mean a lot, and it is great to see you here!
There is such sadness in your words..lonely images - the sun sinking in an empty sky - and yet you have written this with a softness that has touched my heart.
Beautiful writing my friend
:) Julie
Posted 11 Years Ago
11 Years Ago
Thank you...my woeful heart is often the giver of inspiration :)
This makes me think of a butterfly as it gently flutters along, visiting varieties of coloured flowers and taking a taste of nectar from each, hoping to find that perfect flavour !
A thoughtful, colourful poem, imaginatively penned !
The beauty in love used as a sky metaphor, searching it's shades and depth for a passionate horizon, or simply something inspiring to make an impression upon the heart is that, each day we are treated to a new sky, a new migration of clouds with depth and contours all their own. If you search for new love, like a child wonders at the sky, you will never tire of counting. One day the sky may bring a horizon, that would make you weep to see it change into night, but by witnessing it's quality and spectacle it is you who will change and flavor will rest permanently upon the tongue. A fine bit of writing that brings new outlook upon the old theme of Love.
Posted 11 Years Ago
11 Years Ago
Thank you, my dear :) I'm glad you liked this one...and you saw in it something slightly different .. read moreThank you, my dear :) I'm glad you liked this one...and you saw in it something slightly different than I intended, but I rather enjoy your interpretation. Thank you for that.
11 Years Ago
I call it as I see it. It's o.k. To be off from time to time. :)
"She's mad but she's magic. There's no lie in her fire." - Charles Bukowski
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