Why Do Poets Write of Love

Spring Beauty 2

Caution:

The words upon the page before you are to be read at your own risk…
What is implied within them is left to the perceptions of the reader…
If you become engulfed enough within them to endure to its finality, I thank you.
Your comments will enlighten us all…

Why Do Poets Write of Love
 
Why do poets write of love?
Do poets possess an extraordinary
Amount of love within,
Requiring them to relinquish
The overflow onto a blank page,
In order to remain within the
Bounds of sanity?
Would withholding that anomalistic
Amount of love within oneself
Thrust the poet
Far beyond the borders
Of those who profess to be
Of normalcy?
 
Does writing of the touch
Of love upon someone’s heart,
Create love within itself?
It is most common of one
Who writes of love to also
Write of sadness…
Of sorrow…
Of lost hope…
 
Can it be that the sadness,
Of which they write,
The sorrow,
The anguish of lost hope
Are all created because
They love so completely
In their passion for another?
 
Why do poets write of love?
It cannot possibly be because
They have experienced such
Extraordinary love throughout
Their entire lifetime
That they feel that it must be
Shared upon the page…
For I have not ever experienced
That love but only in the
Most recent of moments…
Yet… I write of love…
 
Can it be that they write of love
Because they have not experienced
The exhilaration of love but for
Only fleeting moments of ecstasy,
And it is love itself
For which they are searching?
 
Why do poets write of love?
Perhaps it is because
Their hearts and their souls
Possess such longing to
Share their love with another…
Perhaps it is the longing
For the touch of another
Who so fills their heart
That they must spill their
Emotions onto the page…
As we would spill our passion
So completely into one
Who so loves us in return…
 
Do they write of love
Because of their desirous
Longing to be inside
One’s heart…
Inside one’s soul…
Inside their physicality,
To coat their entire essence
With the luscious, assuasive
Embrocation of their passion?
 
Perhaps with the page directly
Before their eyes,
They are spilling much more than
Words upon the pallet…
 
Perhaps they are searching for
The most perfect of words,
Painting the most beautiful
Description of the act of love
That can be found upon the page,
Creating the vision within our being
Of the deliquescence of our bodies
Into the fluency of apogee…
 
Perhaps it is a desire to describe
The pulsations that carry our trembling
Bodies to the point of ecstasy…
Leaving our souls vacillating
Between this world and that of the next…
Immersed within the succulence
Of our prodigious effusion…
 
I am physically and emotionally
Depleted from my wonderment
Of why poets write of love…
Perhaps there are no words…
 
Perhaps no poet has ever found
The most beautiful words
To describe love…
Yet, poetry can bring us close
To feeling the touch of one’s fingertips…
It can make us feel as though
We have felt their lips ever so
Gently against our own…
Poetry can be so very perspicuous
That it can almost make one feel
The love disembogue deep inside them…
 
Poetry can also be so illusionary
That one cannot assume its
Words in worth…
What one conceives as
The intent of those words upon the page
Is only that of an allusion…
Metaphorically portraying
What the words that have been written do not…
 
I am once again regaining my strength…
I am ready to ask again of the universe,
Why do poets write of love?
If I were a poet, I would presume that
Perhaps it is because of you…
The touch of your fingertips
Against my skin…
The sensuous touch of your lips
As if it were the first time to feel one another…
Your warm naked body pressing
Against mine, sliding ever so softly
Over me, as if to touch every part of you
To every part of me…
 
Perhaps I would write of love
In my attempt to fulfill
The audacity of my dreams…
To be inside you…
To be inside your heart…
Inside your mind…
Caressing your soul with
That of my own…
 
But, then…
Perhaps I will never find the answer…
Perhaps the universe will never confide in me
This one solitary truth of which I am searching…
For I am no poet…

© 2015

Michael33

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31 thoughts on “Why Do Poets Write of Love

  1. I’ll say what every other poet is thinking, Michael…yes.

    Tis exactly how you describe it here, including the fact that poets can’t possibly feel love in its perfection. The way you drag us through your poem by our hair is most delightful. You do know, my dear, that with the power you hold, you could have just as easily asked us to drop our clothes piece by piece as we took this walk with you, and we would have listened. Warning us was kind, but not needed on my end. Yes, your ability soothes. 🙂 Gorgeous!!

    Can you hear our collective responses? I know you do. You see so much through those poetic eyes of yours. We are so fortunate to have you writing again. You, Sir, are indeed a fine poet. I learn from you. Humbled. With this poem, you have eased poets around the world.

    You’re amazing heart is wide and it is confident. Thank you for writing. ♡

    Liked by 2 people

    • Good morning Audrey Dawn –
      The beauty of your most generous words
      Has caused me to crawl within the cave of humbleness
      Reserved for just such occasions as this…
      The conversations that took place, as I sat with myself…
      Pondering as to whether this should be posted
      In wonderment of possibilities of misunderstanding
      Or the precarious notions that
      No one would read deeply enough within the words
      Or search so thoroughly between the lines
      To find all the little hidden, somewhat provocative
      Suggestions that lie there… upon the page…
      Awaiting… longing for the touch of the mind and imagination
      Of the reader to discover them…
      I do believe that you, my dear,
      Have uncovered their desires
      And left them gasping for air
      And I am most humbled by your wonderful comments
      And honored by your reblog
      Thank you for your many prayers and well wishes
      They obviously are having a most positive affect…
      Hope your Monday is most beautiful…
      Michael

      Liked by 2 people

  2. Reblogged this on Oldest Daughter & Red Headed Sister and commented:
    Because I can’t possibly allow this post to go unnoticed. ..
    A strong poet, although humble, should be well received…
    And mostly because I never want to forget that I read this poem. Poets may now breathe. Thank you, Michael ♡
    (Michael is fighting an illness that may take his life. Weekly I wonder if we’ll see him on WordPress. I pray for you, my friend. Be well. We cannot afford to lose you.)

    Liked by 2 people

    • Thank you Annie B and good morning – Glad you enjoyed this post. Hope you’ll drop by again soon. I’ve just come from your site and plan to return there quickly to absorb all that I can. I do so love the things that draw my interest so early in the morning….
      Hope your day is most wonderful…
      Michael

      Liked by 1 person

      • Thank you, Michael. It’s just the ramblings of an old broad – nothing as exquisite as the words you write, I promise you.

        I wish you a beautiful day as well.
        Annie

        Like

    • So true Tina – This world seems to be aching for more love to be shared throughout it, yet the disease continues to spread. I can certainly say though, you have done your part of sharing the love. I am always enlightened when reading your posts and enjoying your photos… I’m so glad that you share it with us.
      Have a most wonderful Monday…
      Michael

      Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you so much for the “brilliant”… We’ll just suppose that you have no bias toward the author… I knew that the dictionary would be popping out on this one. I hope others that did not have a clear meaning of the unusual words used, also spent some time with their true meanings. With a clear understanding, it sheds some other than ordinary light upon it. Hope your day has been delightfully peachy…

      Like

  3. A beautiful piece .. Felt like I could touch the kinds of love you spoke about. Just beautiful. It also made me think about why I write about my PTSD and purposeful life. I think for me it is about expressing your soul’s yearning.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Good morning Janetcate – I believe you are exactly right. It is truly the soul’s yearning that finds its way onto the pages and that is why I love to read your posts. They are from the heart and soul of your being and there is nothing I like better than to read truths from a passionate soul, no matter what the subject matter. PTSD has hidden its head for far too long and needs to be addressed within the view of the world by those who have suffered, those who have endured, those who know the truths and realities of its affects upon one’s life. You’re soul is yearning to help the world understand… and you are doing a magnificent job. Thank you.
      Hope your Monday is most beautiful…
      Michael

      Liked by 1 person

  4. Reblogged this on The Dependent Independent and commented:
    Poets write of love as writers would anything
    The attempt to capture the profound in words

    The difference though
    love is universally profound
    as is truth
    a necessity
    it drives us when we let it
    as we make ourselves vulnerable to it

    The pain
    withstanding without breaking
    The pull, desire
    the essence or quality of being
    In part because
    we long
    we miss
    we are incomplete
    until content.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. I don’t know why? I made it all the way through and didn’t feel the urge to dash off! I really did think about this before commenting! I did scroll through the comments to get here and noticed one of your followers mention an illness! Now my friends that I know about….love not so much at least not the reciprocal love! I hope whatever illness holds you lets go so you can breath!

    Like

  6. Most definitely poetry on this page, which by nature would declare the author as poet… And I think you nailed it
    Their hearts and their souls
    Possess such longing to
    Share their love with another…
    In a nutshell, yes. There it is. At least for me, and I would guess for you. Very good, Michael. I’d say outstanding, remarkable, inspirational, … and more – because this is all that — but they don’t do justice to the truth that is placed here, and the poet’s heart so clearly shown.

    Like

  7. Wow! Here’s a really sensual and great piece of writing. I’m glad I came to search you out. My answer in short, as poets we are more wired in to all emotions and as dreamers give ourselves over to idealism. Imagination becomes our opiate… manifested in injections of what we call love. I loved your poem. Look forward to your next visit to my blog. Best Chevvy.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Oh, Chevvy… How wonderful to read your beautiful words. I’m very glad that you enjoyed this and I’m extremely honored that you wandered back in time to find this from months ago… Your answer is filled with truth. It does seem that poets “feel” so very deeply all of the five senses and often… well into the sixth. Our imaginations are most definitely our addiction that cannot be satisfied by the ordinary. We must pursue love… as if our idealistic illusions, that so beautifully wander in our imagination, are somehow truths of the universe… and we shall never cease our search of that perfection of affection.

      I too look forward to my next visit to your blog… where I may wander freely within your brilliantly imaginative thoughts…

      I suppose it is the wee hours of the morning where you bide… so instead of wishing you a beautiful evening… I shall send you beautiful dreams…

      Michael

      Liked by 1 person

      • Thank you Michael, yes, you probably found me asleep when you responded. I hope you are well. Now that I have posted quite a few things, I’m trying to get around to other blogs and perhaps for the first time realising the impact of one’s creativity and words on other lives. I’m ever the romantic and probably focus on it because it feeds the adrenalin rush one doesn’t always attain in ordinary lives. Besides, I work in the real world where this become my place of escape and solace. As I evolve in my poetry, it will evolve into a combination of idealism and reality.
        Yes, my friend – I look forward to your next visit and you reading me with you cup of coffee:-) I’m also eagerly awaiting your next new post, hence my searching you out. Best. Chevvy

        Like

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