Love, as of now, attached to living flesh;
at end, all but fixed to an epitaph.
Love, as of now, tender, ever fresh;
at end, has refuge in a photograph.
What then, says this, of love’s enduring state:
love, so exposed, will weather and degrade?
What then, says this, of love’s most fragile state:
love, so exposed, will but wither and fade?
Surely love, at end, has a greater role:
love can not be fixed to paper or stone?
Surely love, at end, is spirit and soul:
love can not be to the elements thrown?
. Love, as of now, leaves a gape in thinking.
. Love’s fulfilment needs no earthly linking.
© Tim Grace, 25 August 2011
To the reader: Love in all its forms is an emotional transaction; an exchange of spiritual relationships. Being such, we all-too-clever humans have built ‘love’s transaction’ into a thriving economy. At every opportunity we translate love into a material possession that can be mined for treasures, bartered for business, and stolen for stealth. At death, we are then confronted with love’s material redundancy; paper fades and stone erodes… love endures.
To the poet: Half way through Shakespeare’s sonnets, it’s clear the writer’s having issues with fatigue. Love’s pen is flaccid. Whether, at this stage, he knew he was half-way through the collection is unknown; nonetheless, he was doubting the sharpness of his quill. It’s in this section of the Sonnets that the narrator is most exposed to his various demons: he confronts his virility and concedes his wilting wit; unable to write of fresh love in his once so youthful voice.
2 thoughts on “As of now”
You write fluidly. I wish you a worthy companion in a branch reaching for the ultimate truth. Yes, love has nothing to do with materialism, and at the end of one’s journey, what remains eternally is felt like the air we breathe.
Wishing you the best.
… in the end, Love returns to its source … Love is Love nothing more nothing less.