Romantic Love
Is love a noble thing—a transforming
Attainment of the higher soul and mind—
Or is it an Egyptian plague, a swarming
Of gnawing locust mouth parts? Is it blind
Like Homer and as full of epic lines,
Of epic similes but written out
In sizzling hormones? Is it crested spines
On Trojan helmets as their warriors spout
Their blood from heroes’ sword blades and their spears?
It is gurgling gasps of slick scarlet on
The lips of victims, far beyond salt tears.
The best the gods can do is laugh and yawn.
..Perhaps it seems just something to amuse.
….If so, then why the long unhealing bruise?