A Love Poem

- m.g. (bio)

​

It is perhaps a common attitude that the Romantics are romantic fools,
Overly concerned with twittering birds and rattling pines.
In truth, they have accurately interpreted natural phenomena
As the several whims of God: Indignation.

This rock is a heat closer to frozen;
Its colonies challenge his sublimity,
Have drawn us into his searing gaze
That from its serrated towertop
Plucked Lucifer,
Toppled Babel,
Spotlights us.

The pattern is becoming.
His conceit requires constant sustenance,
Lest his hanger flares,
And on we he feasts.
This discipline for our flawless love, [REDACTED],
As it still now casts over he.

In the beginning there was boredom,
Then came a glorious detonation:
The Great Implication.
From it, like a magician’s knot,
Endless implications continuously unfurl,
All denying any claims to causality,
Unchallenging the gauntlet which clapped the void.

In the cloth chain exists a single thread,
A splendid helix from two strands woven,
That in its perfect incandescence punctures space-time,
Bending to it celestial beams and human knees alike.

There have been serial attempts to solve Love;
What differentiates these inquiries from others
Is the solution may spoil the problem.
Though,
Should love remain unstudied,
We remain undisturbed in our bliss,
And God will extinguish humanity.

The dilemma is thus to you acquainted;
My declaration is simultaneously publicized:
They die, of course.