by Richard Vince

Perhaps love is a language we learn
Phonetically: we make the sounds
Before we understand their meaning.

Each iteration brings us closer
To the right answer; each feeling
We will into existence is more like
The one that creates itself than
The one before.

Happiness grows gradually from
An article of faith into
Undeniable truth, into something new,
Real in a way that never seemed
Possible, joyful like we imagined
Childhood to be.

And suddenly, everything is different;
Everything makes sense at last.
The days of pining for something
Better are over: any alternative path
Would be inferior, any other future
Would be less bright.

This is how it should be:
Joy dispelling despair, certainty
Displacing doubt, hearts not half empty
But overflowing, unable to contain
All they give and receive,
Just as they are meant to be.


Posted on 02/16/2020
Copyright © 2020 Richard Vince

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