The Agony and the Ecstasy
By John Herlihy

I once wrote a poem about the agony of lust
That flared like butterflies, but tasted of ashes and dust,
A burning fever that arrives like an unannounced guest
That forces a person to respond to someone’ else’s behest.
A body discovers intimate knowledge from the body of another,
That leads us into a driving passion that only makes us suffer.
It burns momentarily with a flame of unspeakable desire,
We can think of nothing else, we are on fire, just on fire.
With lust’s departure, we throw off the event like an old shoe,
Dumped onto the waste heap of memory with the watery stew.
We get on with our lives as if nothing at all has happened;
A few may feel tinges of regret; others may be a little saddened.

Let me now write a few verses about the ecstasy of love
That flies from the heart like butterflies or a solitary dove,
A burning fever that also arrives like an uninvited guest
That forces our minds and hearts to respond to another’s behest.
A body discovers intimate knowledge from the body of another
That leads beyond ourselves into realms that resemble none other.
The flame seems beautiful, an inner burning that will last forever.
An eternal flame that is sacred and will not be extinguished, ever.
Love never takes its leave, although it may slip briefly underground.
Should misunderstanding arise we suffering, feeling as if drowned.
True love has no comparison; it is an emotion unique of its kind;
Its flame burns down life’s wick; but its power transcends the mind.