What is Remembered

Love is not often written of with subtlety 
It is rarely expressed in simple terms 
It is dressed up for the evening by 
Invitation to our most secret chambers 
Often hidden beneath, our affinity for words 
Spoken, and written, and sung 
An act of treason against logic 
For which we are gladly hung 

The slight sideways smile through a crowded room 
Is often treated as the 
First ships that landed on these shores 
That remained unseen, for the natives had no cause 
To recognize the pilgrim's sails 
And without a frame of reference, there are some things 
The human mind cannot fully comprehend 
But between two knowing souls, it is a language all it's own 

True love is rarely written of clearly 
For its close cousin, obsession, robs the unsuspecting of clarity 
And many an artfully formed verse 
Is merely a plea of insanity entered in 
The courtroom where our souls stand trial 
Where defendants we have been since we first felt 
The sting of heartache, as lovesick children begged 
A moment's relief from the prying eyes of the jury 

The way that graceful sweep of her finger removes 
A rebellious strand of hair from its perch along porcelain cheek 
Is often misread as a sign of flirtatious intent 
Robbing such simple motions of any practicality 
Much as we romanticize the crimes of murderous men 
Once their victims have passed beyond our memories 
And we were left with only photographs of their daring deeds 
From which we filled our empty pages 

Love is often ill-informed, love is often the last to show 
To the ball, if she comes at all, yet we search 
Vigorously, every pair of eyes that cross us 
Through momentous occasions and common occurrence 
We search with welcoming eyes, every silk soft hand that holds on 
Tightly, for seconds or even years 
For a reason to keep going on, an excuse to forget 
How we slept alone, before we found ourselves fallen 

And yet love is not often found, but unfolded 
As a blossom over time, and long past 
The seasons that Man should bloom, it will be love 
That we are remembered for most 
For love is as permanent as we are not 
Love is as certain as we are lost 
And makes great men, of those who would not otherwise know 
Greatness.