True Love


If thou would love me, see not perfection;
Give no worship to goddess unreal.
She is only gilt-mirror’s reflection,
Love’s not life-breath in the sculpture’s ideal.
No, true love’s not blind, is not deceitful.
No mirage it treasures, but honest flesh.
It sees the beggar, strivings pitiful,
And the God-child, Creative Spirit’s best.
Love is a melding of two into one,
Sep’rate purposes combined in single soul,
Twined ‘gether, only by other undone.
Through shared joys, goals, and sorrows, Love will hold.
And at end, though dis’llusioned, stands this gage,
Clearsighted and true, yet uncowed by age.

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This is both a personal response to the times when I've know someone is not really in love with me, but the perfect version they have of me in their head, and a response to the common saying, "Love is blind." How can we love something that we don't even know? In my mind, love chooses what to concentrate on, rather than being unaware of defects. To truly feel loved is to know that the other person is entirely aware of who you are, good and bad, and still wants you around!