To say that I love you is inadequate still for how much may the mountain simply love the sky? Frozen granite fingers reaching out for her into the rich deep frozen blue of stratosphere. Tis cryptic this word of allegiance and belonging, that never seems to amount to the passions felt by a willing man. For Love is not cradle yet comforts as such nor bastion yet protects from the multitude of woes. Giving flowers a minor symbol of the galactic explosion of endorphins rushing through our bloodstreams as we contemplate even brief words. We are undone, prisoners, captured by this longing for another, yet fail in word and deed to express its depth.

How then frozen by the winds of time’s repeated majesty are we kept from ill by a pull to particular? What elixir made hopeful by the dawn escape against all odd from the urges lassoing our mind’s dragging us backward as necessary to the object of desire. Objects, desires what strange bedfellows these words that describe things when my fury burns for the living and urges would brave, storms, seas and battle to see her once again. What dream so dastardly lashes us firmly to following path whether by foot or heart or wing? What thing is this love that speaks so frail of its wanton will as it nervously searches the vacuous database of available phrase coming back with improper search words? We are slaves to something from which we meant no allegiance.

Were life to end as this love stands unanswered would then we portend the dangers involved? Or is it simply emotional this feeling that death would be preferred to the passionate pains within an unrequited heart? Where from did this disease inspire to entangle half the masses in quest and the rest in defense again it? What massive marevel awaits them who venture in hunt successful? What pledge regarded prayerfully is made to shape ones arrival? What peace grasps the heart that we may begin to relax the tensions threatening to tear us asunder? What is this Love that it overrides even the most powerful of evil intent, rendering them useless in the veil of simple smile? Where may I find defense against potency unmeasured?

Oh to fools this pleasure be. Where words are worthless, diamonds idolatry and whispers to long forgotten inference of inner children finally found. This folly is to death its parting never to be free from the prisons of adoration, the clutches of daydreaming the next encounter or finally finding freedom from worry, care or consideration. My clutches are ill acclaimed as these talons grip my very soul from which even smallest twitch futile. This is my self worship in the grasp of love so sweet then brutal, finding hope in the next gesture, mention or wink. My thoughts bridled my mouth useless my heart given to the dawn of forever waiting. I stand knowing a greater thing than this has been given for the asking. What creation to beset me with problems so torturously grand I cannot nor would not escape them? What creation to Creator owes the beauty and fealty of true love observed and answered?