Tuesday poetry: A Sort of Love Song

If I say “I love you”,

that is not the end of it.

It is merely the beginning

of the beginning.

Those words are not a 

culmination, but a 

promissory note, 

the first step on a long path.

They’re a promise

to work on the promise,

with no firm destination

guaranteed. 

Do not say “I love you”,

and expect hosts to break out

in Jubilate. Many say

the words; few grasp

their dread meaning.

They mean that I, a human,

take you, a human,

and say that I will treat you

as I would treat myself.

Though I remain myself,

and you remain yourself,

there is now this third creature,

suffused with us,

coterminous with us,

us more than us.

It is a pledge to not hurt,

to not break,

to not soil.

I will battle for all that is good for you;

you will battle for all that is good for me.

Sing “love”; but it is a song

tinged with both joy and suffering,

both gladness and sorrow.

Do not mouth the words

if your voice can’t command

the melody.

But this is mere noise.

The trumpets blared,

the chorus acclaimed,

and we hurtled on,

thinking the words are enough.