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Twelfth Love Poem and Twelfth Song of Despair


by Beate Sigriddaughter


Twelfth Love Poem: The Timing


I saw the perfect maple leaf
one day, spread in the sun.
I walked three paces, then
I turned to pick it up.
The wind had claimed it away.

Love, too, comes like a leaf,
a sunrise, or a rose. You cannot
say: Not now. Even a fox
would laugh if you tried
to schedule its trajectory.

All true lovers know this.
If necessary you steal time.
Love does not wait. Here
is my flame. Accept it while
it burns before it fades
away like a neglected muse.

There are other worthwhile things,
of course, friendship, commitment,
duty, but my love is fragile
like a rose, and also steadfast
like the sun, and matchless
like a maple leaf.

Let us not save each other
for special occasions.



Twelfth Song of Despair: Forgive Me


Forgive me.
At times I feel
I came to you too soon,
unfinished and unbridled
in my wailing disbelief
that all this glittering
and gifted world is turning
into energetic boredom.

Forgive me
for not being content
with loving myself, for
clamoring instead for
admiration from another:
You. Clearly
I am more needy than
the sun in luminous
indifference.

Forgive me
for being fed day after day
and still crying hunger.
Forgive my rage
at knowing so much
and not enough to break
these clammy fences
of irrelevance.

Forgive my chronic
unimportance, my sad
inability to comprehend
and make you comprehend
that I am as essential
as a cricket or a galaxy.

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