a eulogy to wrong love

the angels mourn today, a heart laid down to sleep;
cherubim grieve, seraphim seethe, the memories were never theirs to keep;

celestial union turned burnt out nova, wandering across lost galaxies,
purpose of formation yet unseen though felt in empty chest cavities;

womb to tomb the silver thread links spirits through existence,
gardens grew from concrete graves,
where the hopes of a legion of long-last loves met saccharine death untimely;

here lies the legend, the one who got away, the fallacy of dreamt up desires, that never got to dance in the cold, green light of day.


(Inspired by this excerpt from C.S Lewis’ book Four Loves)

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”



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