Love's Saga

Loneliness curls around my mind’s heart like a vice to squeeze,

To punish.

To penalize me for every no that could have been yes.

For every choice that chose not to be an option when I deserve to be a priority.

Someone once told me that I am in love with being in love.

Enamored with the thought of being some man’s wife.

Each word was like the lash of a whip,

Stinging my flesh with truth.

If it is true that a hit dog will holler,

Then this bitch be wailing.

Screaming at the injustice of life and circumstance.

Railing in my mind’s heart against the love that I love who I have yet to meet.

Perhaps I am in love with being in love.

Enamored with being called wife and mother.

Perhaps I am waiting to be rescued even as I am rescuer.

Penalized more for a belief than for a choosing.

The belief that if I can have the desire’s of my heart,

And this is a desire that thrums and radiates throughout my being,

A compulsion like dwarves drawn to rings,

Then surely it must come to pass.

I mean it would be the cruelest of jokes for me to be who and what I am,

To desire who and what I desire.

To love who I love.

Cherish a belief and it never manifest.

I combat sinister loneliness with the truth that it is a lie.

That I am never alone, even when I am devoid of human touch.

Combat with the knowledge that if Love loved Adam enough to fit him with a mate,

Then surely his flawed ancestor is worthy of the same.

When tears inexplicably fill my throat, flood my eyes,

Build bridges of despair in my soul,

I am comforted.

Consoled by the knowledge that patience should have her perfect work.

That in the dispensation of the fullness of time I will be perfect for what God has for me,

Entire, complete and having no emptiness,

Wanting nothing.

I may need.

Need to be needed by him.

Need to smell him on my pillow.

I may need to see him across the table from me.

Need to hold his hand in mine.

Need him to be the bulwark that holds life at bay,

Even as I am his port in the storm.

But I want nothing.

My every wish is addressed, my desire granted.

This moment in time while I wait for him to become who he needs to be to be the one I need…

This space of life wherein I become who I need to be to become who he needs me to be,

Is but a season.

Soon all will align for his eyes to meet mine.

For us to both recognize that what we two have separately, is not nearly as wonderful,

As what we two could have together.

Love.
Pure, blissful, blessed, God anointed, love.

For that I’ll wait.

For the promise of him I’ll fight the vice wanting to crush  my mind’s heart and flood my throat with tears.

For that…

For him.

For the promise of his love nothing is too much.

No wait interminable, no pain too deep.

For this promise launched ships and razed castles.

This promised started wars and inspired peace.

For this cause man has sacrificed for eons of time.

For this cause woman has suffered penalty of death, at just the whisper of a possibility that love given would be love returned.

How then can I do less than to wait?

How then can I dishonor the legacy of love with the fallacy of lust?

I will wait for him, my promise.

For him will I wait.

When he comes, with purity of heart, joy of spirit,

We will celebrate.

With generosity of spirit, I will only make him suffer a little for my wait,

As the reality of his present presence obliterates past’s pain.

Making it as though it never were,

As sun pouring into a room that has been too long in the dark.

(c)Pamela Shropshire 2012