Concerning Love...

 (Confession of a Don Juan)


What is it to live and give in a way believed to be of your destiny's calling? All the while facing fears of a place in your heart that has the trappings of a war that tears at the border of your soul.

I once dreamt in my sleep the feeling of a chill of a dying pain, as it took hope from my once spirited heart, and turned it against my burdened soul in the name of shame.
With doubt sparingly serving as the very core of an inspirited cause, forcing the heart to give nothing less of what it has to offer. And yet, everything of the most infinite measure of treasures of those of limited means. Yet nothing based upon unkind thoughts of the heartless...purveyors of disappointed dreams. 

In all of its fragility, hope is most often lost to the four winds of human nature. As wings of freedom looses its course, amidst the change of unwanted seasons. As if my life suddenly fell unto the uncertain path of someone else's fate. The words of my heart no longer have a beginning, nor an end of purpose. Often appearing as an absolution in contradictory terms. Though with every choice as if a mandate to live anew...or so, die at the hands of my fears, as often the faithless do. I'm just an aging, broken and wearied heart, left to navigate its course upon the pages of the book of my life. Must I dance the dance of my ancestors in vain?

Love...Though sometimes unkind, yet only true to those whose heart is blind.  So it be the joy that only the young at heart foolishly embrace, it becomes the wisdom of the old, that finds unjust in the midst of its grace.  What good is the fostering of such, if the heart and what it gives isn't completely faithful? What good is the desire of its passion, if it is not held in the highest form of admiration? A chance perhaps, to retain affection amidst the threat of separation.

Never once have such doubts claimed the beauty of its immeasurable peaks. And yet, even in its finest hour I have never known the depth of a touch that tenderly grazed the tempered surface of a flushed cheek. Nor have I ever felt the warmth of breath breathing down upon my neck, as soft fingers swept across my opened chest.