I am in love–and yet it is probably doomed to be an unrequited love. You know how that is. I really never seem to have any other kind. So it was that last night I wrote some poems, dedicated to the man I love. I haven’t explained my passion to him, but I will place the poems here–just in case. As Tennyson put it, “It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.” I admit, this unrequited love is more than lost: it is the empty feeling of having been eluded by the beloved altogether. Yet in the sense love is a holy passion, even if the lover is ultimately left alone in the dark. Here are the poems I wrote for my beloved, as close as I come to an open declaration:
A pressed flower represents
The one who first said, “I love you,”
And in fact, the only one.
Yet if my current beloved
Gave me a dozen roses
I swear they would never die—
They would be fresh forever.
Cut from among the lilies—
Placed in water—
They are unspoiled as lambs,
Like the young ewes written about
In the Song of Songs,
Yet their fragrance is fresh
As a spring day when
Butterflies pound their wings.
And they remind me of you.
Love and Prayer in a Tallit
In your tallit you are beautiful,
Offering your soul to God—
For prayers are savories to Him.
Yet in his love he sustains
The one offering up his love,
A Lover to his Beloved,
Worshipping with gentle ecstasy.
He is like a great Female Heifer
Feeding Her calf with Her milk.
Love passes between you and She—
The lover and the loved—
The loved and the lover—
Each loved by the other.
Joy passes through those udders,
And sustains you, I am sure.
God is my forever friend;
You are, too.
Yet I cannot join with you, so it seems.
We nurse from the same Mother
Yet circumstances separate us.
Petals of Longing
Like roses which blossom forever,
Is all I shall have left of you
I fear my longing shall last the ages.
I still whisper your name,
Tears rolling like dew to the Earth,
Yet do not know if I will ever be yours—
Will you ever be truly mine?
Or shall you always be beyond my reach—
As far from my dewdrops as
The Golden Sun blossoming above me.