A Poem: Love does not …

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Love does not … 

 

Love does not know of rules or games to play. 

 

Love does not know of when to handle affairs, 

 

when to call back, write back, or even say I do

 

Love does however know of muted sentences that speak words with just one stroke. 

 

When every sight of ugly, barren or small surprises, elevates, and becomes fair in the presence of one being.  

 

When, upon the wide wide sea of life’s many vexations, a chant from them can rapture and tear out the ragged pages of your heart. 

 

For there are many lives to be forgotten, heartaches to mend.

You did not meet them complete. You came with scars on your face and a steel iron in your gut.

 A conscious so foul, so grisly that you dared not look into it with your own eyes.

The way you put on a veil in front, covering your sight for what everyone knew was doomed to fail. It was past now. But it was the present yesterday. And had been for too long. 

And all that love does is forgive the torn, the evil, the small.

You, that never walked that extra mile for your son. And you, who continues to put all the blame on yourself for having done wrong towards someone who thought you loved them. And you, who, no matter what you do or how much you do it to others, will be rejected, ignored and get less than half back.

To all of you. Love does not belong in the eyes of opposition. 

It belongs in the embrace. An embrace so strong, so ardent, that it can make an old vagrant go from sinister to lovely.

And all you seem to do in one moment to the next is try to get even closer, and closer and closer to some state of eternal symbiosis.

For you cannot let go when you’ve first tasted forgiveness. It electrifies, humanizes the good in you, that you never really knew you possessed. It puts a healing hand on the times you’ve hurt someone. It kisses your blistered face, for to them, it is just as beautiful as before you became guilty. And it will forever be.

For love does not reject or expect perfection. It does not want you to be purer than what you already are. It rather takes your hand and asks for an invitation.

If they love you, they’d like to be a part of your misery. If you love them, you’d say welcome


– Aftur S. Nerdrum 

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