If I knew how to love any other way,
Would I instill in myself another’s reaction to love’s action?
Would I create a balance between art and mathematics…?
Would love to become a study rather than a sculpture of mankind fusing?
Would it be divisions and multiplications, addition and subtraction of hesitation?
I don’t know!
Could love ever to be defined? And if so, it’s redefining every day
In love, I want to become the clay…
Make bold of my heart!
Bravery is the only way love can start…
And even greater courage is needed for a restart
If I knew beforehand that the pain secedes,
Would I trust my instinct and proceed?
Or take heed?
Yet continue cautiously because love is not a want, but a need
If I knew that doubt could erase promises
Heartache could injure souls,
While precious memories of euphoria take hold of me…
Would that still make bold of me?
Could I trust myself to feelings?
Love can never be under new management,
Because love can never be managed… yet it can damage
In love, you must succumb…
To experience it
You should allow it to be
Love is powerful, within its own desires, it receives
In the palest moon of night, it deceives…
And ever so trusting, it believes
If I knew that I could dangle my legs a little,
Allow them to grow numb until a deciding factor…
Maybe I would jump that fence
As I continue to try to make sense, of love…
I reach incompetence
I guess my perception will always be unsure
I can get my feet wet at the shorelines,
While making pretty hearts in the sand
Or take a chance off land, and ride the waves
With a possibility of a wipeout
But all in all, that is what love is about
Having some doubt…yet,
Chancing because we never know for sure!
© Shantelle ‘Elle’ McLin
Excerpt from the book Beyond Nursery Rhymes; Real Life Tales
About the Author
Recreational writing began for this author at the age of 9 in journal formatting. Her creativeness was sparked in Middle school during a notable visit to the library with her best friend. With an outdated range of selections, she instantly identified with the poets’ generations before her; she had found her outlet. While facing great personal difficulties, Elle treated poetry as a feel-good remedy to her melancholic episodes. This would become freeing to a young and timid adolescent, as she discovered her voice. Writing would become a soother and her pen, a microphone to express her challenges.
Visit Elle’s Author Page At www.ctupublishinggroup.com/shantelle-elle-mclin.html