The youth
	Sees the flower
	And dies for joy.
	The man
	Sees a woman
	And dies
	A thousand deaths
	Learning how to love.
	God hurts, sometimes,
	But the pain
	May not be in vain,
	If man and woman
	Both strive
	For things greater
	Than themselves.
	There is always more
	Than either sees,
	More than sight
	Or touch
	Can reveal,
	More than one
	Can reach alone.
	Come love me
	Like the sun!
	Love me
	Like rivers run!
	Come with me
	To places only
	Angels see!
	Let us not
	Live like stones
	But with bones
	That creak and groan,
	Straining forever
	For things unknown.
	Love me
	With gentle fire,
	With steadfast desire
	To make us more
	Than each alone	
	May ever be.
	Love me
	Strong and true,
	So that
	When I take your hand
	In mine,
	I will not find
	Only emptiness.

9/7/82

© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

Previous Poem Return to poem list. Next Poem