Primordial

Who is this beast who has hijacked my body,
This tawdry thing which shoves away the
Mind to let it wilt in light, its insights
Mocked, its endless explanations
Suddenly ignored? The seasons simply
Come and go, and any man will be so apt
To find the one, the woman who is wise
And otherwise refined, in fall or winter,
As in spring...And yet, the beast arises
Only after winter, in the sun, among
The budding flowers, and it finds the
Strength to take the body when the weather
Warms. The woman of refinement is
Dismissed as someone pallid now. The
Beauty with the softer face, the raven
Hair, the lithe and fecund form, is put
Into her place. The beast is pleased.
It howls, and swats away all explanations.
This, it says, is love.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 10 times
Written on 2011-04-11 at 15:00

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