Thursday, February 14, 2008

Happy V.D.


Allen Ginsberg

The weight of the world
is love.
Under the burden
of solitude,
under the burden
of dissatisfaction

the weight,
the weight we carry
is love.

Who can deny?
In dreams
it touches
the body,
in thought
a miracle,
in imagination
till born
in human--
looks out of the heart
burning with purity--
for the burden of life
is love,

but we carry the weight
and so must rest
in the arms of love
at last,
must rest in the arms
of love.

No rest
without love,
no sleep
without dreams
of love--
be mad or chill
obsessed with angels
or machines,
the final wish
is love
--cannot be bitter,
cannot deny,
cannot withhold
if denied:

the weight is too heavy

--must give
for no return
as thought
is given
in solitude
in all the excellence
of its excess.

The warm bodies
shine together
in the darkness,
the hand moves
to the center
of the flesh,
the skin trembles
in happiness
and the soul comes
joyful to the eye--

yes, yes,
that's what
I wanted,
I always wanted,
I always wanted,
to return
to the body
where I was born.


Jane said...

Yes, truly loving yourself is one of the most difficult tasks in life.

Mothers (most), on the other hand, love their children freely.

Love, your mother

Interestingly...onzuf..zounds like oneself...

changapeluda said...

I Love my Mother!

Happy St.Valentinez,

Nigel St.John Regina Smegmatica Howle-Raines said...

I just wanted to drop you a quick note thanking you for your comment the other day. I really appreciate it.

La Sirena said...

Yup, yup and yes!

Me, too and you, too.

I'm glad I could help.