My lover is harsh.
So beautiful, and so harsh.
All this love I have to give for all the beauty, and yet so much pain in return.
Ever I wait for my lover’s returning, each time with more depth of worship and delight.
I keep coming back, not just because the only way out is dead, but because I love to love the way I must love, in spite of the glorious, treacherous pain.
My soul swells with emotion and trembles with feeling, while my eyes cry for simpler days.
And yet, simpler days there are not.
Days of quiet, perhaps, but no more simple are they.
The vibrancy, the surge of fresh life, the ultimate joy in giving and being given in newness.
This is why my lover is mine, though a dreadful lover indeed.
I cannot resist the color.
I cannot say no to the glory.
I cannot keep my heart from its longing.
The crispness of awakening and the unrelenting tide of opportunity once again.
Promise of greater through fragile rebirth.
There is nothing sweeter than the earth once more greeting it’s inhabitance yearly with Spring.