Why is there that need to define…
The hurry to put a name…
It seems in love is inherent a shame.
I mistook it for that liberator divine.
Love it appears,
Is a weed,
Feeding on the crop of order,
Which needs to be choked.
Love it seems,
Is a tumultuous sea,
To be kept at shore,
Through the dykes of social contracts.
It seems we are all on a stage,
Where we have to play out our parts.
The script sanctioned by the society at large,
Every line, every thought, every gesture rehearsed.
If we act out our part,
The audience applauds.
If we try to move out of the role,
Thrown offstage, in alienation gaoled.
A wild steed to be tamed,
A flooding river to be restrained,
A nomenclature of civility ordained.
Yes, put a name, justify,
Let not nature, the orders of society defy.
Oh, grieve I for that impulsiveness lost,
The spontaneity, of that primal want,
To be loved,
Need I belong to this civilized brood…
Cursed be the social lies that warp us from the living truth,
Cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of love.
Let this be my only prayer,
Untamed, unvanquished, as the sky above,
Let my love for you remain.
Pure in its essence as dew,
Undiluted by that need to name.
I wish I heard you say, Amen!