Love’s Octaves
Skin-deep beauty, sure, is an attraction;
Perspectives, yet, must pass beyond the face.
Though fondness can tinge each human action,
Pleasure shouldn't be the goal of life's race.
As buds bloom forth into lovely flowers,
Shouldn't romance pave paths to partnership?
When companionship cools us like showers,
Compassion beads—like honey from combs—drip.
As banks of ponds and lakes of eras break,
And stagnant waters (good and bad) mingle
With streams and brooks in an unending ache...
One's deep divine self does not stand single.
Our wordless words take flight beyond the sight,
Where selfish shadows yield to infinite height.
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