My Love Had… Poem by C Richard Miles

My love had skin as pale as polished ivory
But, like the poachers’ dire predations on that noble tribe
That roamed untrammelled over Africa’s great length
Which stilled the trade to trickle to a needful stop,
Though worn piano keys and ancient carven netsuke may remain,
Time’s strict exigencies have wrought their wretched worst
And plundered youth from tissue’s softer dawn
To mottle, mark and mildew once unspotted flesh
Which still holds memory as sweet as peachy bloom.

My love had lips as red as crimson coral stems
But, like cruel climate change and callous crown-of-thorns,
In starfish form, disfiguring ragged, rugged reefs
Like once unkindlier barbs pierced that fair face
Two thousand years ago on Calvary’s cross,
Wild winds of worldiness have blasted boyhood’s bloom to blue
And stolen simple joys and cheerful, childlike grins
To darken, dull and deaden once unsullied smiles
Which still return in laughter rare as summer frost.

My love had limbs as straight as boughs of stoutest elm
But, like the beetle carrying spores to fell the tree
With fateful fungal grains that lay the monarch low
To bow his leaf-crowned head and crumble into dust
And leave the countryside wide open to the gale,
Harsh aches of age have bent with rheumatism’s rage
And wasted sprightliness to crabbed, arthritic crawl
To stiffen, sap and sully once unmastered strength
Which still aspires but limps as light as thistledown.

My love had hair as black as cobs of gleaming coal
But, like consuming fire that burns the brightest brick
And renders anthracite made ageless aeons back
To fade to ash and vanish into drifting smoke
And give the grate a hint of winter’s chilling white,
Years of neglect have sent through sorrow’s storms
And loosened lustre from each tonsured tress
To grizzle, grey and lessen once full-flowing locks
Which still float fine and free as silver’s costly sheen.

My love had eyes as blue as springtime’s shimmering sky
But, like polluted poison breathed from chimneystacks
That sour with smog the freshness of the misty morn
And cloud cerulean tints with industry’s coarse tones
To steal the sapphire from the rainbow’s jewelled ring,
Life’s clouds have hazed the gaze and blurred the sight
And rendered vague the view which once was clear
To waver, wilt and weaken once clear-sighted looks
Which still see through the mists of time to love’s first spring.