poetry, prose, and photography
Strange word, love.
Which means so very much,
Blend of similar emotions.
Often born out of lust,
That short term burst,
Energy, focus, easy flow,
From delight to boredom.
At times I wonder the themes
Of those transitions from lust
To love. Where the dream passes
From self gratification to delight
In that other, the beloved’s joy
More glorious than sunlight.
Life giving, freeing, beyond
Emptiness. Perfection.
For some, “seizing the moment”
Involves a death grip.
Hold that moment forever
Or until it’s torn from our
Grasping, finite fingers.
I seek, simply, to be fully in
Each moment. To savor each
Second dearly. Taste each piece
And fully know it, before it
Collapses into the vaporous
Collective of memory.
Daring to connect
To talk, touch, love.
Riding the embrace
Of human connection.
Perhaps feel humiliation’s
Terrible burn, of hearts
Betrayed, of confidences
Flung open into the wide
Abyss of public view.
Cruelty amassed.
Fearlessly facing such,
Diving headfirst into dark
Mist must seem mad
Yet, it’s the realm of vulnerability
Where real love becomes
Manifest.
Such a strange thing,
This loneliness within
Despair’s deep abyss
For it harbors many,
Many hearts.
Distance sometimes
Seeks to play tricks
Upon our hearts.
The torment of
Separation a magnificent
Illusion. Love connects
Deeper than space/time.
We are no farther apart
Than our dreams.
Carl Setzer: Word Shaper 