The Madness of Love
Love is precious, but it's also difficult, and it has it moments of insanity.
|This is a Linking Format Poem for
The True Affliction of Don Quixote
The day he met me, he promised to be my friend,
doting on me, or so I thought, he brought me roses.
Shyly, I smiled through thick, tear-heavy lashes.
Sadness had locked the breath inside me, and
doubtless that’s why his sweetness spun my world about.
“Thank you,” I told him, repaying his gift with a smile.
Enthused, I thought, by my soft-voiced hint of liking,
gallantly, he took my hand and led me into bliss.
So followed three months that passed like ribbons
streaming ripples in the light breezes of spring.
Galloping freely, I let my emptied heart carry me.
Eager for love, I found the light after being so cursed.
Don Quixote, alas, was not fashioned thus, not for endurance.
Equations must be balanced, each equal-sided with love.
Eluding me, he hopped upon his aging Rocinante and fled,
departing the moment he felt the full extent of my need.
Dewdrops splashed upon his frowning, wrinkled brow
while he plunged off into the day -- that silly, old fool.
Last time I saw him, he was still chasing broken windmills.