Friend or Lover?
Confucius say, All’s Well That Stays Well
Is this the last supper?
Chinese take-out with truth for desert?
A fortune cookie each,
But only one of us to hurt?
Much wisdom on such tiny paper,
Much preferable to the hours of a taper
As its wick burns away with all of one intent:
Romance – a wasted evening spent.
Isn’t this much better?
Friendship on the floor,
Down-to-earth, high in mirth,
Why do you want more?
You speak of love,
Yet love is this – more enduring than a kiss.
You want a story, a standard, a reason to stay,
All the while wasting the fortune of today,
Which is now, right now,
This moment,
Here and never again:
Greater than Linzer hearts that might have been.
Too many lovers in the world,
Not enough workers;
Be proud the latter to be;
The way we are now,
We can move through time with glorious efficiency.
But in formal combination,
In wedlock,
In bedlock,
In “dutiful” mutual reliance,
There is where entropy starts
As well as mutual defiance.
Free will is our bond, don’t you see?
The greatest bond of all:
That which keeps conflict short
While truth and respect grow tall.
We come and go yet always are;
Does it matter whether near or far?
I think of you daily with faith,
Always fresh, always hearty,
And the times that we do meet – what a thrill,
What a party!
You wish to exchange now for tomorrow?
Liberty for fixity?
Excitement for boredom?
Reliability for responsibility?
Surprise for expectation?
Uncondition for condition?
And ultimately,
True love for the semblance thereof?
Why?
Are you that much ruled by the times –
The full spectrum of media crimes:
Love as sexuality,
Economic cohabitation,
Liberal conservatism with yet religious affiliation?
Or are you romantic prey to centuries of art
Depicting all love as an arrow through the heart?
Are you a puppet to your peers?
A foolish slave to mirrors?
Tell me honestly, why must we change
When change itself is in our favor?
No vows to keep except by savor.
Or is it change for petty sake of aphrodisia?
Why dare put our best into amnesia?
That is perhaps for others – or with others –
But not for us.
Isn’t our own form of comedy just as well?
Or are you not laughing anymore?
A history?
A tragedy?
Must one of us exit the door?
What a pity, because I truly love you, my friend.
– Mary Jo Magar –