Thirst

Love is the hardest patience

Too often tugged by deserts yearning

I stumble over myself

with the desire to care

Crude, school boy fumblings

That bruise, instead of healing

Real love is not perturbed by

A lack of connection with its beloved

Love is prepared to wait

Alone, in the dark if necessary

For the right course to take

Real love is wize

But not I.

I cast about furtively

like an addict, not really loving

Anyone, but only hurting

in the attempt to quench my thirst
My desert yearning

Truer words were never spoken;

Real love is not self seeking

It sounds trite, cliched, anachronistic,

To say, "God is Love"

But imagine if you will

Ponder in your heart the true nature of love

and you will find peace

All the furtive desert fumblings will cease