Art by Picasso

This life and our Love …

I have walked these broken streets, across pavements off shattered glass,

where once roamed love, unfettered, free,

soaring into the infinite starlit night, plunging into the deepest leagues of the sea.

I have walked these thorny paths, my feet bruised and torn,

ever searching for simple love, to live within me,

to walk the beaches of my dreams, to rest, to tenderly be.

I have whispered odes to phantom love, breathing murmurs in the hope of belonging,

dancing a tango with the swaying of the willows, waltzing in the afternoon breeze,

to be with my love, under the gently sashaying trees.

I have whispered scribbles, sketched on your bare back,

feeling your soft skin as my fingers swirl and tease,

surrendering to you, as I choose to remain, before you, on my knees.

You have settled in my soul, an eternal part of who I am,

through your pristine eyes, you have bequeathed unto me the gift of seeing,

my love for you, now rests, in the innermost recesses of my being.

You have settled, in the crevasses that once pockmarked my battered life,

your love has unshackled my deepest emotions, your presence has been truly freeing,

you have washed ashore, cleansing my world, banishing the shadows as they scurry away, fleeing.

The world that surrounds us, is but a fickle illusion,

where vows are taken, oaths sputtered, in sickness and in health, to love and to hold forever more,

while behind the facade, more lies abound, hearts trampled underfoot, swept away off the sanitised floor.

Ah! but your love and mine is nothing like that, we have nothing much but love to give, nothing to hold onto except one another,

it is our bond, nurtured intricately, deeply forged over these long years, that has been the glue that has held us together over the years, the decades, and the ravages of time,

all the while you have patiently tolerated my quirks, and hand in hand we this mountain of love have continued to climb,

for what we share with each other, is a love genuine and true, and ever so sublime,

reaching far beyond my scribbled verses, never falling for the all-too inviting pantomime,

yet overcoming so much, so very much of my paltry rhyme.

Art by Picasso