(This poem was written when, thank God in a previous life, I was languishing in a drink & drug rehab clinic. In these places they are specialists in kicking the psychological skittles of shit out from under you; and also a great knack of undermining relationships. They told me that I didn't love my wife; and I protested greatly. For three days I was left in solitude, left alone to contemplate this; and, in time, I came to ask myself: 'What is love?' The answer I found, I have tried to encapsulate in this poem.)
But what is love?
We know how it seems;
But can this yearning really be defined?
If that can't be,
Then love is but dreams:
Pastel shades, sweet music of streams,
Soft sounds, with melodies, entwined.So is this love?
Satisfying your needs;
And mine, thus, being wholly satisfied?If that is true,
Then love lies in deeds
Of self-sacrifice, made for Love's own need
to be needed - loves search for pride.So what is hell?
Hell's failing your trust;
And my need to serve you, so denied!If I fail you,
Then love lies in the dust
Of rejection: My purpose in being,
My need to be needed, cast aside.
