I wrote this for Valentine’s Day. A bit earthy, as my poetry has been of late.
Culture in the West concentrates on the breast,
David’s six-pack and Venus’s glow.
The Humanists’ look behind and bring forward
The body which the Greeks thought to know.
Today we fall back into longing and lust
A pattern of sex that leads only to bust.
Our great stories are of sacrifice and pain
Where heaven is far and despair tends to reign.
The angst and the doubt cloud our minds and our lives
‘Til what most see to do is fight to survive.
Alive for the moment while others die
Hopes for better beside those lie.
Love, true love, is meant to refresh
That ‘lamp on the hill’, its light to enmesh
Our hearts and our minds through the dark of Pain’s night.
And raise us above this basest plight.
The power of pleasure from Cupid’s sharp bow
Is naught but a prick in our gonads’ below.
Like those stories we acclaim on stone and papyrus
And films running long through the epic beside us
Love sees us through the sorrow and pain
Because Love sees the Son through the torrent of rain.
That from the basest of urges our minds can conceive
And share with our Maker a desire to believe.
There is more to do here than pleasure ourselves
With that gift of creation in our souls’ deep wells.
We discipline that which would bring us down
And strive for that which is eternally sound.
When we lose ourselves in our epic Love
And together, at last, join with Him up above.