Cultural Traits, Culture, Free Spirit, Human Nature, Impermance, Life, Love, Lovers, Marriage, Poetry, Self, Sex, Sexuality, Spirituality, Unconditional Love

An Eulogy for Undying Love

(About a 2 minute read)

You broke into tears the moment I said
I loved you. I panicked. What had I done?

It was your father and mother, you explained.
Their brutal fighting and divorce had butchered
Some part of you. Cut your ideals about love
Into quarters.

You no longer were that girl
In the smiley-faced dungarees
Who believed “I love you”s were gold
That could never be tarnished,
Were diamonds that would never
Turn back into coal.

That night, night of tears, you made visible
To me how we plant our feet astride the notion
Of undying love.

Stride it like a farmer
With just one plant to tend.
Hold it up like a hunter
Holds up a twelve point buck he’s killed.

It means everything to us,
It visibly means everything to us.

Inevitable, I suppose, to want more of a good thing.
Yet perhaps greed to want more than is freely given.
Either way, human nature.

Are not all creatures born to die, including us?
And yet we touch this thing called “love”,
Hoping we can for a moment become Midas,
And turn love into lasting gold.

But don’t you know? The reason gold lasts
Is because it has never lived.

Only those things that never live last forever.

I can see the setting sun
Burning colors in your hair.

There’s nothing we can do
To keep those colors there.

I can see the raven cross
The liquid changing sky,

And in my heart I know
We too must pass on by.

I will not make you promises
That life itself will surely break,

But I can be with you this moment
In these fires on Clinton Lake.

12 thoughts on “An Eulogy for Undying Love”

  1. An incredible post that splendidly highlights the various aspects of love and how we tend to react in a bond when presented by different situations. Thanks for sharing such a great post! According to your convenience please do read some of my writings would love to know what you think about them 😊


  2. I loved that poem Paul. All things come to an end, even love. But that doesn’t mean its meaning is lost. Also, i need to make a point how incredibly vivid and awesome your poem is.

    I can see the raven cross
    The liquid changing sky,

    And in my heart I know
    We too must pass on by.

    First, liquid changing sky, with a raven streaking in it, parting the white-blue sky, like the way a boat cuts through the lightest of blue waters. Love it, that’s what went into my head.

    We too must pass on by. We have to make our own journeys some day, after the fun and tears. The sky gets darker in my mind, but the raven is still determined, not knowing where it will go, but go it shall. Love the rhyme too, sky, by. Terrific stuff 😀


    1. I believe I’ve gotten better, and I know you have, Sarah. You’re fusing power and meaning now like a giant blue star fusing hydrogen. It almost seems impossible anyone could come into that as fast as you have.

      Then again, I think you’re right about your own growing skills quickening your appreciation for other people’s poetry.. Before I started composing, I had little — very little — understanding or feel for poetry. I think there’s something to be said for the notion the best way to understand it is to develop it in yourself.

      With you, the pleasure I take in your poetry is multiplied by the pleasure I take in watching you grow.

      The internet is a strange place. There’s something about it that allows you to get to know people in some ways quicker than you would offline. You might never learn what kind of car they drive, or even how they dress, but you can very quickly assess such things as their communication skills. So I don’t really find it odd that I already take visceral pleasure in watching you grow as a poet.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Like I told my sister… nobody gives compliments like poets, jeez blush
        I bet you we’re all pushing each other forward, too. I’ve always dreamed of being in a little group of amazing people who can push each to new artistic heights, like Paris in the 1920’s, or Greenwich Village in the 60’s-70’s.


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