Tattered Standards

It seems love, the one most frequent,

is the flag ripped from atop the mast.

Frayed in passion, and tattered for its zeal –

flying its colors at heavy winds

when it could have been lowered,

and preserved or patched.

Mooring in a harbor with gentle

and steady gusts does not appeal –

we’d risk the high sea, if only to be lost;

little left but floating threads of who

we were within, and what we were without.

 

 

 

Image: an old Monotype, titled, “Sunrise, Stormy Sea”

17 thoughts on “Tattered Standards

  1. little left but floating threads of who

    we were within, and what we were without.

    These lines are quite powerful for me. How love both defines us and empties us of who we are. I loved reading this.

  2. Love as a metaphor. I believe that what I just read. What an interesting idea! Poets talk about love all the time, but this is fresh, as the flag, rent by passion, flies in the breeze on heavy seas. This is interesting work.

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