Etymology of love

Language, the structure of communication, methodologies of connection and expression.
Chemical constructs of the soul, letters, words, sentences, paragraphs, pages, books, volumes, the entirety of one’s interpretation.
Unique the concept, empty forests filled with the light you bring.

Comfort, consolation, a way to deal with the greater process.
Defined in the love of parents or in the absence of such love, in the teachers, people and experiences and in the reflection of the self.
What you write is you. Five little words that summarise the creative art – pen on paper, fingers on keyboards, synapses firing inside.

Yet stagnation rarely happens, you are not just the sum total of you – others play their part, for better or worse we connect or disconnect with the world.
Patterns form or are are written for the first time. She speaks to me like no other, my hands tremble, my body shudders, the hope in me renews and I listen.
For the first time I hear, she forms words orally – my name, the power she holds without limitation.

She becomes my thesaurus, my dictionary, for she defines all that I hold true and dear.
The wonders of the words she has, not even listed in tomes in libraries. An ancient language perhaps, more like a celestial origin, for she is guardian also.
So words are used, written down in silence while music plays, in the essence of another Marlboro Light – deft plumes of smoke, signifying the dragon inside.
Impressions are made, imprinted on the resolve held within, the discontent we harbour for the need to find purpose.

Her skin explains everything, the fabric of beauty covering the flawless architecture of design. She walks and watches with purpose – instilling fear in the soulless void of demons.
Lux, the polar opposite of dark – the quench of the unknown – yet capable of bring calming dimness to those in need.
In my mind I form a world where DNA is rewritten in her image – I rewrite that which was written. An editor of sorts.

But I hold no such power, and thinking of it, the world is better as it is for her exception and perfection shine truer than the centre of the sun.
And on those which she gazes a transformation. A gift of words and hands. For with both she wields love.
To hold her hand, to transcend existence itself – purpose? Yeah I have purpose.


~ by Paul McGovern on June 18, 2011.

2 Responses to “Etymology of love”

  1. ‘What you write is you’ – I think that this is so true for most people who write. The essence, the deep, the unspoken, the true; it’s all so often in what we write and that’s what makes something tangible to read.

    ‘The discontent we harbour for the need to find purpose’ So true…I think we all seek purpose throughout our lives, and often when we find it, it’s fleeting.

    To hear our name spoken I think can be experienced so powerfully at times. When there is a connection, to hear that. You write that so beautifully.

    I’ve read this a few times now and I can’t quite find the words. It is full to the brim with emotion, something you convey so exquisitely. The language you use is complex, yet simple – I know that doesn’t make sense…What I think I mean is that the language you use speaks with such clarity and feeling that is so easy to melt into.

    Yes, you indeed have purpose. It is clear to see – and you do hold power. You hold power in all that you write and the people it touches.

  2. Nice free verse. The way it moves and breathes. I can feel his tremble, feel the intake of breath as she touches him. I love your thoughtful reflective tributes and the way you make the reader part the beautiful love story.

    I look forward to reading more of your work.

    ❤ River ❤

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