Perhaps it may turn out a sang,
Perhaps turn out a sermon.

-- R. Burns Epistle to a Young Friend

Friday, July 31, 2015

Only A Moment

Love is the word we use
To mean what we want
Until we learn
It means what it costs
and what is lost.

To love is to lose.
It is the perfect suicide
that leaves the hitman alive.
If this life is it
It is a hit,

Like ice water
That dimples around
Grasping fingers --
Now going down,
 It shocks, and knocks,
And evades our locks.

In the world without end
Love transcends.
It only begins
With what we see
And what is near,

And passes away
To wait for us another day.
So be careful what you love
For of this your heaven will consist.

4 comments:

USS Ben USN (Ret) said...

"It means what it costs and what is lost."

Love sure ain't for the faint of heart.

This is a great poem, Dwaine. Thanks for sharing your thoughts.

mushroom said...

You're right. You have to be strong for that adventure, but it's worth it.

Thanks.

John Lien said...

Nice Mush.

"So be careful what you love
For of this your heaven will consist."

I like that.

mushroom said...

Thanks, John.