always I wanted to be loved
was I always addicted to pain?
the pain of waking, unsure of whether I was still
the beloved, of the one who was my beloved
or even worse, where once devotion had ruled my every gift
every action of tender affection to my beloved
replaced by banality, habit
or just as bad, my lover got there first and eyes of indifference
soon to be replaced by pools reflecting another, to tear my heart out.
why, logically, would I expect perfection
unwavering love and attention
from another person just like myself
who was neither unwavering, nor certain in my affections
except for the intensity of a firefly moment
There were times
when I basked in the sunshine of
another’s devotion, adoration even.
Glorious to begin with, a reminder of unconditional love
from an unknown memory, that nonetheless nagged for recognition.
It could get to be a bit much to be honest
a bit overwhelming, and I’d long for freedom
to run away
like from a job in a grimy factory that
kept you chained from 9 to 5
and somehow you broke free
and ran out into the meadow singing
across the stream, following butterflies nowhere
Do I see a glimmer of hope
Now I’m way too old for someone to look at me and go
ooh he’s cool, think I will give this person my love.
I’ve spent a lot of time when I was young
and again recently
trying to look beyond
If I’m very still, very quiet,
as quiet as if I was watching faery folk weaving gossamer
I catch a glimpse, a thrill of recognition,
a homecoming reasonless surge of joy
because I see something unconditional
about the feeling that life has, for me.
Why unconditional? Because the cells and atoms of my body are held together
by something which has no name
and comes from that which has no form,
the ineffable, let’s call it
When it adopts form, then it has form, and that form is everything that is
I call that female aspect of existence,
that brings everything, including me, into being
I call Her the Goddess.
The nature of anything she creates, anything that exists
is to be held together by threads of adoration
the love of life for itself.
There’s nothing to attain in this
How could there be?
What else am I? I may imagine this or that
But sooner or later there comes a time
when I needs must lay in the meadow where I belong
lay back amongst her perfumed flowers, every scent a gentle shiver of delight
No wonder nothing else comes close!