This is not Love [sonnet]
There is something more than love which makes mere love seem plain. Here is a sonnet from my heart which will these things explain…
This is not love; it is some other thing
More wonderful and more than twice as wide.
Compared to this, love is the underling
And any shrill complaints unjustified.
This is not love – this strange embrace we found
This otherworldly magnet-making sword;
This other thing which makes another sound
Can take us into realms not yet explored.
I hunted for a name for many hours
With which to nail those colours to the mast;
But naming things destroys their secret power
Demolishing clandestine caves so vast
How little do we keep the mystery
When, settling just for love, we think we’re free.
© 2010, Alan Morrison
The Naked Troubadour 