Muse eternal,
How tenderly
She loves me,
And yet how
Violently
Do we make that love
In the depths of the night,
The heat of the day,
And beneath the honeyed filter
Of dawn and dusk, of which
She is the former, I am the latter -
Although it seems
Feeble to compare her
To the rising sun;
She is the bringer of light,
But so much more;
She is overwhelmingly more
Than I could ever understand,
So much more
Than unending warmth, the catalyst
For my smile.
I wonder if I shall ever find
The words that would do justice
To such divinity -
I shall devote my life to the search,
Although I fear
Those words may not exist.
Perhaps they would
If God were a woman.
Then again,
If God were a woman,
Her name
Would be Clovette.
YOU ARE READING
Refraction.
PoetrySo many aspects, colours and themes make up our experiences. Truly, is anything entirely good or entirely bad? Upon weighing up the positives and negatives of the past, do we not admit that even tragedy is- in a twisted sort of way- advantageous? O...
