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Story about love


Submitted:Nov 7, 2012    Reads: 26    Comments: 0    Likes: 2   


LOVE'S WONDERLAND

B. Garth Steinhagen

AS THE PASSION lays you down with my hand behind your head, the arrow pierces, my strength withers, and my heart is opened. Yellow butterflies flutter, anxiety, courage, is heaven unguarded? Why is my wealth and beauty approachable? My wonderland is spinning, my pulse ebbs and flow, and dreaminess' seems to embrace the air with the essence of love. Do not awake me, do not disturb. Let me gaze, let me renew, to view for eternity.

I am though, clothed, folded up in the imagination, but you have released the barrier to timelessness. Perception the natural form from my eye tells a certain reverence about love. In this spiritual connection, the inspiration blossoms an eternal place, a truth of the soul that alters and arches life from tears and weeps, to a "bards sublime," like in the Proem of Longfellow's, "The Waif". This is the rainbow given to me by you. For you stretch dreams to peek over stacks of bricks to eye horizons of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet like sonnets blushed upon my face, so sweet and simple. To see this, this gentleness unseals the wells of love forgotten in the nature of me. A thirst that is unquenchable and unimaginable without.

However, with these gates parted, this loveliness, this Adam and Eve sanctuary is so often sought to be filled with external pleasure frolicking about. But I dismiss clumsiness, falsities, for love, your love, is a precious dance, a simile to butterfly circling, showing color and skills to overcome coyness, floating effervescence champagne that rise's incredible moods from moonlight. It ferments' to a fragrance of sparkling rosé and pirouettes in sacredness to the heavens of my eye, twirling bubbles within a potion of eternal love. Beauty, texture, fragrance, reflected in my eye, beats loud and fast, transforming my heart into an iron through your heat and passion. But even as beautiful as emotion is, it is not the "high" of our intercourse that presides. For love from you to me, is a celestial twilight, an "empyrean aplomb" to a lushness of universal transition that explodes passionate rays of the burning spheres upon love's wonderland. It transpires the intellect to excellence, freeing ideas to proper order. It derives a sense of "wholeness", a love, of the connected root of the orchid in the dimness warmth of the soil, the moss that suffers underneath with healthiness, and the moistened tear droplet on the quivering lip of a leaf. It resides, unnoticed, a little story in the book of the garden, a VITA NOUVA shimmering hope of a courtly love into the shadows through shaded paths. Blanketed by the sparkle dew of the grass, inspired by motionless that is smooth as a tumbled stone, this land of love expires and spills secrets with splendor, a gift to all, that even in the cool reflective quality, art views as beauty. The greatest power to create this delight, does not reside in you, but in myself and the direction we perceive. For like stars within the lighted day, my view must not be hidden in translucency but rather clear beautiful nights with poetic love. Twilight has found me.

For loves' mutes' play in this lover's space, but nature has called through you to me, by earthly harp of angel notes. I hear, no listen, the illuminated tone of myself and of others. This rhythm from the cherubs of love, a source for only a few, which angelically you portray as the guardian, soars into my life. It revel's Tchaikovsky "Serenade of Strings", recites pattern and intent of Browning "How do I love thee?", and colors fullness with the oriental poppies of O'Keefe. My sentiment is clear as any pane in which one see's the blooms of life. Color me always, for I can bear no other grayness. Preserve this beauty within the planted life, so that I appreciate the rises of the sun, the spark of the stars and all the brilliance that is to be. For I am a simple plot, but the conveyance you give, greens me to a ripen presence that burst sweet juice from the vines, a purple pompousness that even I am amazed flows within.

You have shown me more than the sun-lit side of my garden, for I have always turned away from my shade. You have given shade the greatest honor, "humility". And thus from my knees, head uplifted to my everlastingly princess, in purity, I ask forever "BE MY HEART, BE MY LOVE", walk with me down the primrose path, let the nakedness of loves spirit, play the gloom, murkiness, and despair away from our words and our world. Let us pass on. And rejoice, "thorn's know more", hand embraced upon hand, interwoven fingers pulsating with a beat of fulfillment, a union that draws our body and our souls together, a motion of tint to bursting love, in a genre of "Milton's" poetry of the world and forever let us live in the sun and shade of our garden of…

Paradise





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