A Love Poem
I’ve met women who believe time
passes faster for them than for men.
I’ve met men too macho
to allow themselves to be vulnerable.
So many folks waste their humanity
in bad decisions, distorting themselves
to fit into expectations limited by naming.
Many lovers fear to journey
a sacred path into Mystery,
dreaming only of happy endings,
dreading things they do not understand.
They kiss half-heartedly,
their souls don’t rise to their lips,
unaware that love is the messenger
between the heartbeats of Heaven
and the passions of Earth.
The more we possess, the less we understand,
the less important love becomes.
We carry a greater burden, our real selves
drenched in the uselessness of lustrous things
we have dragged from one place to another.
A wise teacher told me that if I want
to soothe my broken heart and love better,
I would need to rid myself of the meaningless stuff
I have carried with me, that has sat on shelves
and in boxes and in my head for too many years.
Poet, he simply said, make it easier
for your old bones to move on.
~Marc A. Crowley
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