A bit of poetry: "Confessions of a Lover.... A Word Lover"

I was recently going through old journals of mine, and happened upon quite a bit of the poetry I wrote when I was younger.

Much of it is -- as to be expected from a teenager -- angst filled, and so almost comical. Some of it was actually quite good. Not all of it were things I would want to ever publish publicly, but I thought I would try to go through and find some things I was actually willing to publish.

So!

For your delight, humor or simple entertainment, one of the poems I did think was a bit more "public ready"...

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Confessions of a lover.... A word lover
-- October 14, 2002


How often times we've tossed it about....

    Oh I love that....
        .... jacket
        .... dress
        .... shoes

    Oh I love that....
        .... television show
        .... movie
        .... book

Oh I love that.... with a solitary pout.

Yet do we ever mean it?
Can we ever mean it?
When it is no more than a word,
Nothing more than a sound heard.

For objects are not love,
And objects cannot be loved,
They cannot receive because they cannot give,
And to truly love, one must live.

How often times we've declared it without care,
Yet do we ever mean it?
Can we ever mean it?
When a jacket and a person are held up to compare.

How often times we've tossed it about,
How often times we've declared it without care,
Ignoring its philosophical clout,
Never playing its meaning fair.

But words such as love are a treasure,
Inadequate spoken yet filled to its measure,
Hardly profound yet deeply moving.
Seemingly simple and always soothing.

So once understood, never forgotten,
Cherished, honored, and held in the heart,
A promise made and never begotten,
Soul, mind and spirit always playing their part.

And so, all for one and one for all,
Makes up true love's natural call.

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