I

.

My head was heavy
filled with fear
the room was black
and death was near
I felt my life
give up my ghost
until I prayed
to God our Host.

.

II

.
Here we are in the midst of it,
of life before we die,
and Thank we God for all of this
before our final sigh.
.

.

.

.

.

My Love, go not before
the morn is yet to be
we’ve only just begun
and the lonely moon still beams,
our day is still to come
and still we are so young,
let light at least appear
from out the fearful dark,
give time to love
for Love will lead her own
and we are Love’s
as she has shown.
.

.

.

.

Yesterday I was thinking we must get to the coast,
rent a house, take a week off work, relax, unwind;
I thought the marsh, beside the sea, within a wood,
we’d drink and eat, dance, go for walks & light the fire,
see the moon and stars, sing, hear the birds and cook,
we’d draw and read, write and think about the vast
blue sea and sky, the trees and insects in the fields,
up late beside the fire, with wine, we’d learn again,
remember how we used to think, reclaim it ours, allow
the healing calm to generate its art and breathe upon
our love besieged by endless work and mindless chores
which govern these most recent days and then
sleep long, dream, lie in, have breakfast late and stroll
unto the sea, pitch camp and dally for the day by the
late Spring sun, in the grassy knolls and dunes,
or in the fir tree shade, picnic long, snooze and scan
the hazy warmth of sky, and then both hand in hand,
as like before, You and I shall run and plunge into
the icy sea, wherein we’ll frolic, play and laugh again.
.

.

.

.

True Love will steal The Terror of your Heart,
The Terror of your Mind, The Terror of your Art.

 True Love will turn to say,

“Be Free and Go Your Way,
Grow Strong in Love,
Go ! In the Light of Day.”

.

.

.

Lead me through the woods my doe
where the Unshun in the soft light flows
and the ivy in the dark earth glows
by the funghi in the soft tree moss
and lead me in the forests where we roam
in the green glades of your home
and we’ll pray my doe in the tall ash woods
where we’ll feed from hoof to tongue
in the dappled sun, upon the white flowers
of this year’s first wild raspberries.

.

.

.

.

This three quarter moon rests upon the wing
as we fly east through the ocean of night
where all but the moon on the upper clouds
and the brilliant stars, shed no light,
we are flying to the dawn my Love
to China through the heavens, while the night
rescinds and the moon holds sway
and the first of the light begins to play
with the bands of the colour in the spectrum…

.

Green is the grass in which we lie
in the hay-to-be so tender
and the moon up high in the light eve’s sky
plays with your golden freckled ochre eyes
while we kiss in the soft swaying grass,
pale is your face, my enchanting Love,
as I dream deep down in your smile
where I see in your eyes the opening sky
unfurl in its peace and the joy in our lives.

.

You are asleep in silk
soft in my room of toile
while here with Monthèlie
I try to sleep, though need to write
of how you have inspired
my restless mind with light.

.

Our distance steals my heart

and strikes in me an anxious fear

of peace-devouring flames

which spread to burn

as quick as an electric pulse,

I am ashamed to crave your gaze

ashamed to call, ashamed to let you know

how dearly I have wished our joy.

]]> http://henryvirgin.wordpress.com/2011/06/06/our-distance-steals-my-heart-2003/feed/ 0 HENRY VIRGIN http://henryvirgin.wordpress.com/2011/06/06/love%e2%80%99s-currency-2003/ http://henryvirgin.wordpress.com/2011/06/06/love%e2%80%99s-currency-2003/#comments Mon, 06 Jun 2011 21:58:42 +0000 HENRY VIRGIN © http://henryvirgin.wordpress.com/?p=297 ]]> Love alone knows how love will be
I hope, yes, hope, of mystery
for love’s exchange is her surprise.

Oh love is daunting, still unclear
and given love, I’ll learn to hear
but favour’s not the currency of love.

No, for love is undescribed
love won’t be held, for love is free
and when constrained, then she will flee.

Love is free, she has no currency.