Christopher Withers (UK)
Love entangles semantics
what is Love? indeed,
what is it to Love?
how can one glance truth,
fight through the ingrained gloss
of magazine styled relationships,
of playground whispers, and
the emotion and incoherence of
youthful lust which oft
we mistake in teenage years
(and some throughout their entire life)
for the purest form of Love?
i have learnt,
in contra (it seems) to many of my peers, that
such Love is but the first flush
of raw, un-experienced hormone
played on forming mind.
so then, again, what is Love?
if after the span of all our years,
and the years of our fathers fathers combined
we are still searching for a truth,
some Light on this one subject, which
utterly permeates our lives,
what chance have we
of ever finding such a goal?
or ever classifying this one truth?
or ever understanding this single thing
which ties us all together even if
we see it not ourselves?
perhaps the answer lies in this one fact:
no answer has been found, yet
Love still remains a central tenet
a defining feature of our nature,
of what it is to be human.
Christopher Withers's Other Poems
- become full stop
- bound, the flesh
- Darkness and Fool Clown Lips
- dawns decay
- Days Sound Calm
- death is cold
- egos sum
- exploration: other states
- fatherly advice
- fleeting days
- forever morning hue
- fragmenting in natures abstraction
- frozen moments and you
- hidden people
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