The Non-Miracle.... Love

So many volcanoes, spawn of Kraken’s seed, boiling, roiling, seething, bubbling inside thin walls traveling on a neural microcosm of flesh transcending nothingness. Who made you what your are? Did you not reach your goal? Did you not become the “yourself” you like? Do you only live a cyber life? Painting your life, your brain, your body, in pseudo humanism? No wonder you frustrate easily. No wonder you don’t know the real you. No wonder the fishing for compliments on demand like a movie. You made you whom you are. Only you can change whom you are. Openly sly cutting sweetness in public eye cutting, personal innuendo excavating thrill. Laying your arrogance at the feet of the public’s scrutiny while the real you in domineering reverie lays fire and brimstone stinging the soul of trust behind the veil of friendship. No wonder, one is warped! No wonder, one knows not how to feel! No wonder, one does not feel love, but has mixed emotion! Not recognizing lust from love. Not knowing when hate invades happiness. To be humane is to trust until you find reason not to. To be humane is to have faith that the trust will be returned in kind. To be humane is to live face to face. You learn to love face to face. And when you are alone.... memories. No matter the “whatever” of the baby or the mother, the baby comes into the world with no hate, no lust. It comes into the world physically and emotionally attached, but more strongly emotionally. If it is loved and nourished in relationship, love will grow. Love will never die even long after the mother is gone. Some parents treat their children as rental cars and then wonder why they never come back home. Some treat their spouse as nothing and cry when they part. Yet some are too busy LOVING to hate. Quarrel, yes! Disagree, yes!, At times HATE, yes! Some times passion, some lust, but at ALL times LOVE! True emotion never comes by correspondence course. It comes face to face, sooner or later weak or strong, but lasting even when hidden away in the pulsing miracle we call our heart. © Aug 25 2010 For Farah's "Word Hurl" contest