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The Decimation of Love Define Love. It Will Still Survive

The Decimation of Love Define Love. It Will Still Survive

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Published by JohnnyPanic

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Published by: JohnnyPanic on Oct 01, 2009
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12/07/2009

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The Decimation of LoveDefine love. It will still surviveWhatever limits are placed on it.The beast that's captured in the sonnetStill breathes its hot breath, still alive.Just so, the traces that I driveInto the clean and empty spaceThat ought to be our garden placeFigure the flowers in pure outlineWhere mine is yours and yours is mine,Around this image: a child's face.Define honor. What brave act,What privilege could ever raiseThe sacrifice of all my daysAnd bring them back, pristine, intact?So I am helpless to retractConclusions you regard foregone,For you already have moved on.Your forty sagas will be thinnedTo gorge the fruit with which you sinned,Yet of that ripe fact I eat none.Define romance. It was my tongueDoing you justice, then and now,And this is something that you knowAs surely as you sing your song.Though you deny it hard and long,What never happened doesn't matter,As what did does. Both wind and water Are moved by sun and moon, the power Of destiny that carved that hour You knew my daydream, and none sweeter.Your little whisper woke my lifeAnd yours, though you are not so proudAs I of what it was you said,That you had been my hope's midwife.You knew the gleam, edge of the knife,And how to spit my tough old heartRight through the scars that ache and smart.Yet now you think that mine will healBecause your own is also real,But all need love's strong salve, you tart.Where I would be has no descriptionExcept to say that in your reach
 
Is more than anyone could teach,You gypsy girl, my own Egyptian.I worship you and each inscription,Re-reading as you fall to earthWhere you will have your fiery death,As will we all, if things keep up,For that's the spider in the cup:You may recant with your last breath.I scour my books to find your sphere,And you are there, with promise, fame,With love and wisdom, courage, flameOf justice, contemplative air,And with the destiny we share,Our common imperfect humanity,Facing cosmic insanityBecome the wheel that drives our care.That is the measure of our fare:False angels, feeding vanity.I wobble on one foot unfallingAnd overstep forgiven, sweepingLicentious moan next into weepingFor that for which all words are calling.And as your weaknesses come trailingI give them special emphasisCounting them strong, for every kissThat through your parted lips finds wayEnvelopes all in its lush sway,Inviting new worlds into bliss.My theme is the reduction toWhat must be said, what must be heard,What must remain beyond the word,Leaving behind a stronger brew.Such distillation eats at you,Losing a finger out of ten,Losing tear after tear again,Losing someone you'll miss forever,Losing what was your mind so clever,Losing simply because you can.The person for whom this is writtenIs one who does not need to read it.The point it makes, she could concede itWithout the hook in it being bitten.She is a fish already smitten,Who needs no sleek and flashy lure, No wholesome bait of fishy fare.

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