Of Love

The way the new world sees us isn't any different than before. We spend too much time on things they don't understand. Our superstitions are tiring and repetitious. Who devotes their precious time to unreciprocated ceremonies? They gain no satisfaction from the moves that fill our souls.

But still, these old bones forget. The restlessness we had during our youth, the rejection of our own parents ideals. Change is subtle, but change is there. With inner peace I find joy where I had not before, while other things become less daunting.

The vigor of past days marked by lust, love, boundless energy to navigate this bureaucratic world. Now? My curiosity though still insatiable, finds tranquility from my own, slow, efficient movements. I feel the little balance in my heart tipping slower, nearing rest. The love I so found before, in women, music, camaraderie, all in their entirety, seem so miniscule now in what will soon match my own love to give.

The world is ready to take me back, finally. The love I seek to give, that so much I have, is ready to be consumed by the blades of grass that whisper their own soliloquies, the soft, moist dirt in a decomposing log, rain unmatched in exuberance, the millennial ritual of deciduous trees shedding their green to only grow it again, and the near infiniteness of the rise and fall of mountains, the destruction of seas, and the life that started so small to only end that way again.

And me, I am ready, too. I have been waiting my whole life for this, but it is only now that I am ready. So please, take me back to the world I've always patiently loved, who is now ready to love me back.