Can I not try again? And again, and again if needs be!
My Love lies dead on a shelf, the ashes of Once Was. Once Was is not the story of Right NOW. And my Love loved freely, secure in our love for each, to carry us past this life and into one where there is Understanding, Forgiveness, and Love of all we loved. Heaven…
But that is One Day, and not Right NOW.
This, this day, This One now crosses my path and my heart sings to a syren’s calling of Maybe, Maybe, Maybe…(please?)
Think me still some fool child not knowing the questions to ask, the solidity of necessity: tedious Plan Carefully? I see one who might make me live and love; cool mischievious spring winds bring the scents of freshness from someplace SOON and not the bleak Canadian winds penetrating all illusion of warmth.
My Love lies dead on a shelf, but there is still love in my heart. And should I offer that to another, and it should be rejected then I know there is still life and love in me. Life is love. Love is life. Without love, life is merely existence continuing as a bad habit, or perhaps for the faint of love of life within us all.
So be silent Doubt. You have song your chorus a dozen dozen of times for this one and that one, drowning out the beginning of other arias.
But this One sings love off-key laughing and living and loving, promises of New Days and a New Book of Life, not just new chapters in the old book. For that tome is now closed, save only to open and remember a favorite quote of Then, edited in memory to perfection.
Doubt be silent! The composer needs the concentration to bring forth a new score for love to sing, the poet his blank sheet to write, the painter eyes the blank canvas. And should this work be marred, the pencils are not broken, no! Paper is recycled, and canvas repainted.
Can I not try again? And again, and again if needs be!
Psychoterrierpy 