-- The Birth of Love --

John Herlihy

The birth of love can be a remarkably tender thing,

From nowhere, unexpected joy only life can bring.

In innocence, we live life wondering what it means;

In the darkness of our days, love eludes us it seems.

Some go through life without ever coming to know,

The great mystery of love that only life can bestow.

He lay there, with frost everywhere, winter resolute,

Feeling oh so cold and distant, in a realm absolute.

Fringing his hardened heart with such delicate lace,

Hard determination sketched finely in the lines of his face.

The idea of love for him seemed distant as a spoken word,

A love he never truly felt, never listen to, a love only heard.

Until, on that day, the appearance of an unexpected grace,

A hint of longing, the tracings of love, in her beautiful face.

Her features were suffused with the glowing rays of light,

A look of longing – a reflection of needing – in her sight.

That look turned into a spear to pierce his darkened heart,

One simple flower, its folded petals, now breaking part.

He the vagabond, the loner, and the perennial recluse,

In the outpouring of himself, there had been no true use.

In the passing years, destiny told him what he knew,

The sage brush rolls onward, wherever the wind blew.

Soon enough, dust settled, the wind finally died down,

In his twilight hush of years, the silence turning profound.

Who can claim to know the inner workings of the heart,

Until the heart beats faster, the feelings eager to depart.

A new life and deep fresh breath, with desire stirring still,

His limits now fully unbounded by a simple act of his will.

As the new day dawns, he remembers he is not the same,

His cluttered mind now swept clean in the call of her name.

His feelings for her break open into bouquets of tenderness,

His clear, open affection came with his first gesture of caress.

She felt mutually surprised, saw him with disbelieving eyes,

After many years of indifference and neglect she came to despise.

The two faces that once served as barriers in their daily repose,

Now blossomed as dawn flowers, with no further wish to dose.

Love had become a thing alive, something he had never known,

Much more simply, much more childlike, as if from light sewn.

Children know love’s secret, give their hearts without condition,

Their smiles shining as light, with all the magic of a magician.

A white pagoda stands tall amid palm trees on a dusty plain,

A rare sound only deepens the silence of love that will remain.

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(c) John Herlihy 3 July 2020