Magic

The magic of first true love
is as painful when it’s over.

But do you know
the sweetest part of it;

It’s when you learn
to cry
to let go
to be strong
and
to be wise.

And when you love again
You’ll know how to keep it.

This time,
longer or even
FOREVER!

How

How like a child
to know that being free
to taste the wind,
is the unbidden source of art,
of what life means,
that joy is there.

How fair,
a thousand wheels
above the earth
that sing upon the hills,
that gifted from the air,
relay its strength and redirect
its power.

How much of truth
that trees may breathe again,
that fish may frolic in the ripples
that the stones create
in flashing mountain streams,
that caribou will graze upon a plain
though far away, still undefiled.

yet

How deep the melancholy of the earth
to learn the incarnation went awry
and it was man who rose up from the sod,
a metamorph,
a true sardonic sire,
a saint evolved in irony,
an avaricious god.