Romance

Romance

Wednesday, April 2, 2008

I'm a bit late with this week's column, but it's not my fault. AT&T has added an "Exciting new look" to their Internet service - oh, how wonderful, I'm absolutely giddy with joy! I don't know if that was the problem, but after talking on the phone with 'Beth' from half way around the world, and listening to her lament my internet difficulties in broken English, we seem to have me up and running again – for now.
For this week, I offer a poem. It has nothing whatsoever to do with computers, the Internet, or Beth from Bangladesh, but I hope the substance of the following may at least force you to double up on your Paxil dosage.
Here it is.

This thing we call romance, can it ever be restored?
Does the heart remember when the labor was adored?

To dream of passion’s glow, let bleeding breast beset
With tempest raging on are we predestined to forget?

Once we sought for holy love, for pure and chaste desire
But now the wanton wail of flesh is all that we require

Can we hope to get it back, can we even bring to mind
That innocence from yesterday of splendor sweet and kind?

The time when we would hide our eyes, lest virtue we would crush
When men would guard their tongue protecting women from a blush

Has that virtue been discarded, has our honor gone to rust?
Can we ever hope to find a love that sees beyond a lust?

I fear the warmth of true romance, of feelings frail and fierce
Of that which poets dared to ponder, dared to praise and pierce

Will ever be a withered rose, its fragrance long forgot
And left for us the thorny thistles thinking thoughts for naught

We’ve sold our soul for pleasures whore, wretched is our fate
For now we’re wedded ever to an ever-sullied mate

So let us weep, and mourn our loss, indulgence has arisen
We begged for freedom, but alas, our freedom is our prison