Continuing with the theme from my previous post, here is a poem about that most wonderful, challenging adventure of living and loving together.
It’s not all flowers and Valentines,
Nor kisses and endearing words,
Not after the first few rosy years
When the freshness has worn off.
It’s having our four feet planted
On the same small patch of earth
And negotiating the distance
We need to keep the peace.
It’s the Phoenix that arises
From the smoking ashes of love
When the answer to “How much more of this
Can I bear?” is always “More.”
It’s the monster that sends me screaming
Down the corridors of rage,
And the mirror that shows me every time
How this horror wears my own face.
It’s waiting for one another
To wake from the nightmare of self
And open new eyes to see again
The beauty that breaks through clay.
I don’t think I could ever
Be grateful enough for this gift
Of powerful, painful presence
That pushes me into life.
Love, as I’m slowly learning,
Is not a fuzzy feeling,
Nor some evanescent notion
Too fragile for the sun.
Love is a deed, and we’re doing it.
Each day that we stay together
Is wrested from powers of darkness
To build a new home for the light.
Stability, as with the monks of old,
Forms a way for God to find us
If we’ll just consent to stay in one place
And quit changing our address.
So, as we journey by standing still,
As the bread is broken and shared
And still remains whole, he walks with us,
The one who changed water to wine.