Happily Impaled to love
To set your eyes on beautiful things – to desire,
Is as to place your hand upon an open flame:
Drooping flesh, dry, unquenched on hoping fire,
In truth an unchecked nature’s hard to tame.
And tears will fall for pursuit of hearty folly
Lest solidly to devotion impulsion’s framed
Rings, like rolling rocks, do no moss gather,
But hoopless, yet bound, hearts do sometimes fail.
Merry the many men who from freedom canter
With thought and conscience less assailed,
For countenance raised and faces full of jolly
Is proof of a joy that is in love impaled.
Deceived do lay the primely disavowed,
By words unchecked, and verbs thoughtlessly sprayed
Sorrow – the pain of harvests left unploughed
Like carcasses out in open fields unlaid –
Roots its image and words deep in the sully:
The gull of yester’s many things unsaid.
What blissful tranquillity it is to never require,
To rest ones tongue on one’s own heart with ease,
When vision’s agilities only do conspire
To praise the eyes with one’s own heart’s release
And the flame is doused whos tinder starch is folly
For all flesh and breath and bone are all appeased
Such is the nature of love.
© Denis Adide 2010
On the process of impalation.
The line between commitment and discipline is always disturbed by desire. Love is more than just the feeling: it is the choice expressed in action. It is the overarching desire to curb that which leads to pain: that which drives us to dis-serve the ones we love. To commit to love is to drive a stake into the well of desire, to control the whims, and to discern what in hands can harm from what heals. Loving is a painful yet joyous choice that I for one happily, and continously will, make.