A Gloss On Love's Pavilion Poem by Frank Bana

PK Page, Love's Pavilion
Poetry as brilliance
Oh why should I write poetry?

I must write it differently
I will build a little altar
Wearing these inscriptions
In the dark of this pavilion
To which my heart is drawn
As a filing to earth's core

Inferior as poetry
Grossly, indisputably
Yet a noble piece of me
Pathetic simultaneously

I will sketch it quietly
Like a mouse on tiptoes
Sniffing round the vast borders
Of Love

My own fragile pavilion
Out here in the snow
Expecting rain, and tempest
To rattle struts and bones
And blow the construct down
Around me, all around

I am in a garden
It is England and the dawn
Appears in time, a shy feline
And flowers grace the garden
I drink coffee and sunlight brings
A calm after the midnight storm

I gather up the pieces, sure
We are not scattered anymore
We said 'unconditional'
As we walked by, and even though
Conditions would appear
Clement or unfavourable

Love is not lost forever
The word of Love is never

When its first shelter is blown down
It remains, there at the place
When one and one in Love
Were found
Insisting to be raised again

And I, like any other one
In semi-conscious obsession
Walk back and forth
Upon this ground
Where once I walked with you

Where Love was found
Newly inscribed
And entered our possession.