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A Slave To Love

They tell me I’m obsessed with you. That makes it sound like something bad-- As if breathing were some twee fetish for oxygen, Or eating, an unwholesome food-fixation. Can being compelled by bonds so sweet be wrong, Or happiness be held a noisome thing? If this is slavery, then joy must be my chains, My manacles your gentle smile, your kiss. We gladly bend our necks to yokes so fair When favored with the servitude of love! July 2, 2019 This little poem was written for the "Slave to love" contest, but was not considered good enough to place. Ah, well, chacun a son gout, I guess. I must confess I am pleased with it, notwithstanding.

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Sand Blown

Date: 7/2/2019 10:46:00 PM

there's an oldt buddhist saying... 'what matters most is: how well did we live; how well did we love; how well did we learn to let go' : )

J P Marmaro
Date: 7/8/2019 4:52:00 PM

Yes, that would be the Buddhist view, especially with their contention that attachments are what bring grief and trouble, and nirvana is the complete relinquishing of attachments. But life is inseparable from attachments of one kind or another-- food, shelter, relating to others. Indeed, life and absence of attachments are incompatible: total detachment is, in fact, tantamount to death. It is how we handle these attachments -- and our demands of and expectations about them -- that matters.