Don't tell me what love looks like . . .

Yosemite '10

Don’t tell me what love looks like.
          It is not always gentleness,
          flowers and chocolate
          and sweetness and stuff.
          It is not always acceptance and sighs
          and reluctantly letting go.
Sometimes love is hard like a rock,
like a hammer,
like a tether than binds tight for fear of losing to the blackness.
Sometimes love damages to save.
Sometimes it cries and wars and pleads—
fights on without an end in sight.
Because it is impossible not to.

Don’t tell me what love looks like.
          It is not always kindness,
          softness and light,
          weathered words that fall
          without impact,
          without fire.
Sometimes love is a prayer,
a scream to the heavens,
blood red desperation that begs to be heard above the roar of poverty, war, disasters,
and, oh, so many more worthy needs.
And sometimes love dies to live.

Sometimes it even hangs, nailed to wood,
pouring out blood and water.
Because it is impossible not to.

2-11-12