[I mean the full real thing
not some bland and pale
with little mutual
relishment or one
wherein there is no heat
or where blood runs
through cold blue veins
or where unequal
or where somehow
with clanking chains
such fetters mean that
passion wanes or where
there is deceit and guile
so naïve hearts are
crudely wiled away
like wood is whittled
knifely deeply down
to pieces on the floor
so separately they lay
togetherness no more]
Love I say
[by which I mean that there can be no trace
of compromise in any words or deeds;
no turncoat treason acts of ‘about face’ —
its garden sown with flowers (pluck out the weeds).
Full truth transparent is my battlecry
against all dull concession trade-off pacts
with all the forces massed to sell the lie
which from our fervent destiny distracts.
For how can heights which we profess to know
become a less-than-blissful dream fulfilled?
To go to higher peaks will mean to grow
if on our frail foundation we will build.
I will not have my love served up lukewarm:
To ecstasy alone will I conform!
© 2011, Alan Morrison