There is a special kind of gentility I love about this poem.
I can never speak of love the way these great poems do. I don't have the experience to and when I read some of these poems, I feel somewhat thankful for it but then again, I envy it.
At one point I felt like love was fuzed with pain but that has been slowly changing because love is just a variety of emotions.
Some wish to be the moon in someone's night and others feel the need to hate cupid for cursing their presence with lucid dreams of what could have been.
What are your thoughts in this department?
I often wonder of the life experiences these great writers have gone through in order to write such words. Sometimes I feel like even I would make a deal with the devil in order to write with such grace, charm, and class.
But would I really?
I guess my other half thinks not.
Of Love by Bill Cantrell
Faces change and rearrange,
Seems nothing stays the same
Yet, love endures forevermore
And could never face such shame
Friends will bend under the wind,
And mothers have walked away
Yet, love will bring them back again
Perhaps this time, to stay
For I have seen the face of love,
Throughout my darkest days and nights
A spark has set my soul on fire,
Under the spell of your baby blue eyes