How It Heals Poem by Eddie Imonyatt

Love, a thing of beauty it be. And walk on air you do, if ever your soul it rubs upon, with a touch that be as gentle as one of a moon, that smiles full above a Sea so calm.

And a thing of reverie it makes, your days that be as light as dew that rises in the morning, curling itself up as wisps white and bright, up against a field so lush and green.

How it frees you from the load of caution and care, that be burdensome and heavy upon your back so brittle and bare. Cast it away it does, thin and long gone as it washes away with the air.

I remember it, just as clear as the afternoon that was a day yester. When across my path it came, as a face made angelic by its luster. Dazed and rooted I was, when my eyes first caught a glimpse.
Her beauty had lifted the once unknown zest in me, with just as much jest as would a fish appear, from waters that be still and barren. And her whiff would excite my heart, to jump as beats amok, if ever my sense it caught.

To love and to hold and with her to forever belong, did my heart yearn for ever so badly. For only in her embrace was peace true to me. The bells of happiness had tolled, its chime my name to call.
But a funny thing this path of life, that maketh a road smooth and straight, to lead to a cliff in an instant behest. For it happened faster than I could fathom it, when love stood and left.

Never had the tempests been so torrid and cruel, as upon my soul it went with plunder, to leave in me a despair so brutal and raw. A turbulent ride it was, one that my heart never did enjoy.

A thing of the past it now is, its presence kept afar in the horizon. Its memory fresh as it lingers, with a tear and smile upon my face, as would the bittersweet savor, of salt upon caviar.