The Myth of Love

A musing on the flawlessness, inscrutability, and divinity we see in those we love.

I do not know you,

Pretend as I might -

Like as I think we are,

Linked as I think we are.

 

But I have imagined you here -

The soft, sad eyes,

The gentle smile

In which I read so much.

 

You are the myth of my mind!

The story passed down for generations,

The hope to which the natives cling

In a desperate attempt to understand.

 

To you I credit my joy, my love

Though it riseth naturally from my breast;

Needing no divine inspiration -

Save the Pleasure of your Company.

 

Said the poet,

“Nobody knows you;

You don’t know yourself.

And I, who am half in love with you,

What am I in love with?

My own imaginings?”

 

                                    - “Gwydion Adair”

Author's Note

The final stanza contains a line from one of D.H. Lawrence's poems.