Cupid's Counsel Poem by ENOCH JOHN

[ For a Shakespearean audience, written after the poet's muse had fallen under Cupid's influence]

Allow not impediments to hamper,
A love that's born to be true,
But rather deign love's gate,
With pleasure be opened.

Let us not for these true hearts,
Which in unison beat,
Put up barriers,
For theirs is a love which surmounts such.

Let us not therefore forget,
Such little aidance that it needs,
A love,
That is both pure and true.

For them then, there is no intermediary,
No involvement of a third party,
For such, acting in bad faith,
Spoils the love nest's security

Of no evil does love think,
Neither allows itself,
In time's fleeting hour,
A hindrance to become.

Love is so much like springtime,
In its delight,
Its fresh flowers blooming,
After wintry's cold and vexatious stay,

Love has a magnificent face,
No one dares deny,
And in its due season,
Such magnificence it unveils.

Love can bewitch just anyone,
Even the stony-hearted or strong,
And its magic it weaves,
Like a storybook fairy.

Love is like the stars of heaven,
And can be likened,
As unto the glow in her eyes,
Their lights sparkling with their radiance.

Love can repel even envy,
Its silent strength,
Much like the ebbing tide,
Carries the debris away.

Love is mostly for dreamers,
Their minds filled with intendments,
And as cars racing the highways,
Beat their hearts in frantic joy.

Love coos gently like a dove,
Its soft coy noises reassuring,
As through the darkest of nights,
Each is comforted.

Love is like a cool and gentle wind,
The heat of anxiety,
Or the pressing pains of worry,
It's able to assuage.

A love that's true too,
At the feet of its beloved
Hardly lays a heavy burden,
But adheres to the honourable.

Let us not upon these true hearts,
Some blame ascribe,
Or seek to extract,
Any valid reason for loving.

For love seems sometimes to exist,
Even in reason's absence,
And has the supreme ability,
Any void to fill.

Verily, love seeks not the face of hostility,
But attempts the other cheek to turn,
As the churlish side of man,
It shies away from revealing.

Love is like a burning fire,
Its ardent fury,
Or its raging flames,
Even showery tears couldn't diffuse.

What can be as tempestuous as love,
O Instructive Muse of Hippocrene,
That even such tempestuousness,
The fires of passion ignite?

Love possesses such tenacity,
Even the fibres of the heart,
Being held together,
A vice couldn't pull apart.

Love is such a fervid emotion,
Which down dangerous paths it can lead,
So that some choose in wisdom,
Its tempting ways to evade.

What profundity of elation,
As with vicarious intent,
And with winged swiftness,
To its Everest the love-heart soars.

Love has its head in the heavens,
Though with some trepidation,
On the shifting sands of time,
Its feet it plants.

Love gives direction and purpose,
And as a rudder to a drifting ship,
After tempest's fierce blast,
Saves crew and cargo from the rocks.

Love is like strong wine,
The drinker having imbibed his full,
In his bed of ecstasy,
Lies in inebriated bliss.

Love is plenteous enough to be shared,
As is the case,
Little signs of ever diminishing,
Its reserves may show.

Against adversity will love's verity stand,
Its embers ever glowing,
Much like tried and precious gold,
Purged in the fiery furnace.

Love seeks not its own aims,
Which by natural causes,
Its aims it should seek,
But champions its beloved.

Let one who seeks after love then,
Such guidance that he may need,
Not among fools search,
For then is one's counsel wasted.

Perhaps, if one loves then,
Little counsel one may need,
As such,
For love itself counsels.

Love is a million-splendoured flower,
Its lovely cloying petals,
To a starved and wounded world,
It dearly unfolds.

Yes, love is such a beautiful thing,
So much like the rainbow,
In splendid array it exhibits,
All its kaleidoscopic hues.

But oh! Love can be so blind,
For evil becomes as good,
And what is unseemly seemly,
In the eyes of the stricken beholder.

Love is not a parody,
Its keen face
A caricature it's unapt to become,
Or something to be mocked.

Love though, has its louring places,
No one can deny,
But it's verdant beauty it shows off,
In open and stark display.

If love then, is for lovers only,
And others find it elusive,
Even so it remains,
An experience to be sought,

For without failure or faltering,
Surely as day follows night,
Even to th'inevitable hour,
Love's absolute holds true.