by P. R. Lowe
copyright © May 22, 2017
(I found this poem yesterday while “cleaning out”, it was tacked to an old cork board…no date no title, but it speaks volumes)
I do not long for love
that consumes me
but rather love that feeds me
that carries me aloft
on the wings of the hawk
not one that pitches me downward
into lust and fear
a man for my girl
a woman for the boy
a day for the night
a night for day
and in this way
we shall be free
to be as one at last
wars from the past over
the scent of clover
wafting in through open windows
open hearts
open minds
