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Love’s Nomadic Passion

How nomadic this passion
wanting little of settlement,
but longing to be free,
shallow of the way.

How anxious this focus of pleasure,
its gallop past desolate plain
in search of honest missions,
where reward might be void of pain.

How discordant the disappointment,
but onward Love pushes
often traversing virulent mountains of hope,
seeking a perfection oft nonexistent.

Such is the enigma’s reach
sometimes finding contentment,
and often a hunter's flurry,
the conquest of possession,
the entrapment of trophy.

How forgiving the mirror within,
where Love seeks not the fixed-ropes of security,
nor the attachment of object,
but merely respect of inner-reflection's embrace,
acceptance of compassion within.

How heart-retching,

 the ragged desperation.

Still…

 
Love's worn, yet indomitable, resolve quests

 beyond mere humankind's summits,
to that landscape made walkable within,
where caress and gentle footsteps

render hardships of the without

needless of the self-incriminate whip and spur

of terror and fear…

Pipe dream?

Perhaps.

But hope will always prevail,

For humankind knows well

Love’s Nomadic Passion.