Holy Trinity of Love

Love is holy,
And only love,
Makes my blood boil,
And my fingers somehow cold,
For the measures of faith,
In the obscure remnants of a life once lived,
Long ago,
Understanding the compromise of time,
Where there can be no give,
No compromise,
As we march toward our intent,
In this divinity,
Misunderstood pleasure,
That heightens our every waking thought,
Brightening our senses,
Disarming our objections,
And guides our every wildest fascination,
A dream within a dream,
Time our constant enemy,
In the decay of the reasons,
That we find to fall in and out of love,
As plentiful as there are people on this earth,
One does not attempt to love,
One either does or does not,
And while we can feign for a time,
In the solitude of our own considerations,
The need to consume and protect the avail of surrender,
Is timeless,
Is endless,
Is as sincere as the fleeting catch and release,
Of hedonistic design,
Of emotional bondage,
Choosing to roll over and play dead,
Settling for less than we are worth,
More than we imagined,
More than we have faith in,
Just more,
And while we may truly seek the answer,
To love,
Its holy trinity,
Of passion, intent and desire,
Is as muddled and unclear,
As the tomes of my endless volumes,
Page after page,
Of seeking,
Of searching,
Of finding an abiding faith,
That somewhere between now and oblivion,
The lasting hope of my sweetest thoughts,
Will render me,
Faithful,
In the pursuit of my divine,
Love,
Only love,
Captured in this ridiculous sentiment,
That is really,
A notion yet understood,
In the abiding solitude,
Alone,
With my thoughts,
And these notions,
Simply complex notions.

SDM

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