I once read a poem.
At least it was called a poem by the poet who penned it.
It certainly stirred a hot cauldron of controversy.
Evoking the elite establishment of hallowed
writing circles to shout their disdain,
to cry out their contempt for such audacity.

"This is not poetry," was the hue that arose,
"it is nothing but prosaic, plagiarized drivel;
written thousands of times across the aeons by
those who have lost, have gained, or ever hoped for."

Perhaps some of us were tainted by the sin of
envy for this unheralded poet and for what he
had achieved with such rudimentary text.
At the time, I also spoke to the crime of the author's intent.
My own aspersions were raised by his act of describing
such incredible possibilities with such simple words,
such purity of condensed thought.

Alas I see now, it was the very simplicity of
the poem that blinded us all to its wondrous truth.
Elementary words which could envision glorious unexplored
mountain peaks, and the assurance of their height's
attainment with nothing more than a steady, faithful pace.
Hopeful words, filled with such grandiose power.
Capable of birthing new life solely from the
pure belief in their profound truth.

This great work of art was forgotten till this night,
as I sit here in a futile attempt to grasp words from intangible air.
Chasing and forcing them into a meager
attempt to share some small piece of wisdom
for two young hearts beginning this journey together ...
two whom I care for as you.

But, lacking as I am, I fear I must
expropriate this forgotten poet's verse.
Offering it to you humbly as my own,
stealing these words even as he stole them before me.
Simple words, distilling all the grand descriptions of all
the illustrious poets, bards, and romantics throughout the ages.

Proclaim it to each other as ecstasy bursts forth,
for its wondrous spell is then truly manifest.
Declare it over sorrow's shared tears,
for its healing sway is miraculous.
Whisper it over anger's destructive rage.
It has the power to quell the thunder.

Speak it as a vow, never to become merely words.
It must be proclaimed with the passion and soul of a poet.
Welling up from the deepest depths of the heart,
and the truest regions of the mind.
For these mere words encompass all.
Believe them as they are intended,
for these words are truly everything.

"I LOVE YOU"!

© S.Loeding All Rights Reserved

PARNELL came down the road, he said to a cheering man:
"Ireland shall get her freedom and you still break stone.

an eerie song that sings of secret trysts,
of long lost love, of desolate despair
that climbs upon the ghostly midnight air,
where winter seas are bathed in cloudy mists.
and i am captivated by the cries
of melancholy winds and stormy waves
that sing around the lonely ocean caves
and drown the heavens with their lovelorn sighs.
a voice that whispered; "once i loved her so
that the wide sea could not keep us apart,
the sound you heard the beating of my heart,
or murmur of the tide, you'll never know."
as if the sea was haunted by a ghost,
who called my name along the weary coast.

The wind shall lull us yet,
The flowers shall spring above us;
And those who hate forget,
And those forget who love us.

The pulse of hope shall cease,
Of joy and of regretting;
We twain shall sleep in peace,
Forgotten and forgetting.

For us no sun shall rise,
Nor wind rejoice, nor river,
Where we with fast closed eyes
Shall sleep and sleep for ever.