Love's door

so much for some

Love’s Door

 

 

Love’s door doesn’t open

on an empty room,

it’s fitful and frightened,

afraid of the gloom.

 

It envelopes the evening

when daylight has gone.

Paces the dimness

dusk until dawn.

 

Sheds tears in the darkness

for the dying of light

and tears for a lost love

somewhere in the night.

 

She’s found rings around Saturn

that brighten the room,

made rings for her fingers

from dust on the moon.

 

Heaven rests on the ceiling,

She’ll search for God there,

years shorn of pleasure

become too much to bear

 

Her life now is measured

with mirrors and smoke,

she’s serving her sentence

while missing the joke.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

wow, such a heaviness to this...i imagined the "she" as Sylvia Plath...just the road i went down being so familiar with her living her life as though she were acting out a sentence...and Ted seemed to be the joke on her.
I like the Saturn part with the rings..like the only rings she could keep as love let her down too many times to count...and God on a ceiling of an empty room.
this is so good.
j.

[Ted Kniffen]

Thanks for reading, j. I can see how this would fit Sylvia's circumstances...unfortunately.

[barleygirl]

This kinda describes the trajectory of my lifelong loveless love life! I was relating to every word . . . spoken with both blunt honesty & tender understanding. Your opening verse reminds me of how love has long since stopped opening my door. But then I began to realize this was my choice, not some entity "out there" defining how this goes. Love the "d" alliteration in V2. Love the double meaning for "rings" in V4. The last verse gives pause to re-think one's perception of the journey. All in all, a powerful love poem for it's complexity & nuances & originality (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Ted Kniffen]

Thanks for reading, Bgirl. I know you appreciate love does not fit into any particular dynamic...it takes many forms...your fur friends provide love with no strings attached...they do not judge...oh, they may whine but that's a different thing.

[R.E. Ray]

I read this one three times, and each time I felt more empty. First, I think about those carnival mirrors, the ones that reflect dizzying images, almost making you nauseous. Then, I thought of an abandoned house, once a home, and their bedroom, now cold, dark and empty, except the memories of one staring at a cracked ceiling. A raw poem, Ted, well written.

[Ted Kniffen]

Thanks for reading, R.E., I appreciate the review. Yes, those carnival mirrors would certainly fit the bill.