The woman standing there intoxicates-
The beauty of her hair and features meld,
Her beauteous form, my blazing flame awaits,
My passion’s storm, her lovely body welds.
Yet now I ask- “Am I in love with her?”
My hardest task, to understand myself,
True love is Will for Good to come to her,
It is not understood, this highest wealth.
And yet when I conceive of what I would,
I know I would not grieve upon her death,
For if I lost her to another’s good,
The winter’s frost would make me loathe her breath.
This will to live- a wish to her possess,
No worth does give, save wisdom in its death.
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
Written March 4, 2007