Conception

I don't know how to pen Love
  I thought I did;
took Words by the balls --
            wrote them wearing red

Stared down each molten eye
bathed in breath and spit;
    their tinged ivory horns
    ancient as old teeth

Rode Passion bareback  
   embedded nails in its skin;
dared Adventure into the wild
   threw Fear over a ledge

I didn't care about a broken neck --
   becoming trampled, gutted, or gouged;

on the contrary --

Death was the furthest planet of star
orbiting this lonely world

Control became a bloody sheath
for the pinion of my Art --
    until it lay a pulpy mass
    at the steel-toe of my Heart

In an arena frought with loss
I waved a lifelong standard
     reveled as a conquistador
     though none of it really mattered

Until I challenged Love head on
   to the weapon of its choice;
I learned real quick --
    relinquished my sword
    in the presence of its grace

After a lifetime marching
circles around its walls
I learned it wasn't Jericho --
     no stones were going to fall

Love is not a Warrior
   bejewelled in Metaphor
   returning from the battlefield
   donning its prize in tow

It's a pauper on the family farm
sweaty from sowing seed --
   gifting all its ever reaped
   to the ill and those in need:

to the naked dingy clothes
  the starving a meager meal
keeping ne'er a cent
   in their pitiful coffer

Love is not a duel at dawn
   or a garden wedding at noon;  
it's not a holding on for Life
   but a gentle letting go  

Love is complete Surrender
   in humble gratitude
   In acceptance lieth peace --
   and where you'll conceive its Truth  
~