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What is It?
It has never been found to go without,
Surrender and you are given the world,
It cannot compete with another about,
Forever it stays and cannot be hurled.
It's strength may seem what makes it weak,
Never conquered by time nor of a force,
It's compassion be solid and it's anger a freak,
Fearing nothing in sacrifice and a Father's recourse.
It carries this world onward on a spindle revolved,
Without caution it can make your head spin,
Having no need the Fool just dives in,
It heals all wounds, misunderstanding absolved.
It is a gift from within, without, below and above,
And comes with no label but simply is Love.
AWESOME! The pleasure of love is in loving; and we are much happier in the passion we feel than in that which we inspire. I love this poem. And thank you for sharing with me Richard. Have a beautiful fulfilled evening my friend.
Leah
In the last few days, I’ve been told countless definitions of love –or lack thereof– and each was distinctly different.
The line: “It carries this world onward on a spindle revolved,” was simply breathtaking, and come to think of it, perfectly true. I am in awe.
It hurts to know what one is missing out on when they don’t feel loved, hence I wish everyone could love everyone and realize the validity behind the already quoted line.
Thank you! Know that you are love.
p.s. your commentary on each of your pieces is enough to make anyone smile… I simply adore it, every time.