Heaven (Love Compels the Muse)

Heaven

In solitary reflection,
considering Heaven and Earth,
humanity, faith, life, and love;
he ponders her, he ponders himself.
He is sure of just one thing;
he is filled, filled past capacity,
with some energy, some compelling power;
not of him, not of her, of them.

Of the Muse, he begs, "Carry me,
inspire my words, draw my pen
through its troubled course;
carry this power as utterance."
To that Universal Spirit, he appeals,
"Liberate my heart, my mind, my soul,
allow that which mortals seldom realize;
free and complete expression."

He hesitates, knowing the task:
the infinite and eternal,
love so vital and so immense,
has never been completely proclaimed.
"Use love to pen love," impels the Muse.
"Say what you feel," implores the Spirit.
"Oh, but to pen such utter grandeur,
somehow...is it conceivable?"

In anxious reflection, he heeds the call,
"To terrify with such animal passion,
then to entice with the delicate nature
of a sweet, tender, ethereal touch:
to fly the spirit, to tremble, to have
breath withheld, heart beating arhythmically;
to attempt the capture of these in words..."
He writes of love, in love, with love.

A gaze mixed of pain and bounteous joy
settles on his face as he remembers.
His eyes reflect an infinitude of feelings,
the eternal journey of a searching soul.
Exuding the aura of an otherworldly self,
mixed of pain and pleasure, want and gratitude,
adversity and passion, isolation and love;
he takes up with hope and faith.

A slight sign on his lips, in his eyes,
reflects a lifetime of doubt, pain, and fear,
a lifetime spent searching for contentment,
searching for deliverance, for Heaven itself.
Memories flood his mind, though not fully,
images of a fate worse than Hades' dreams,
frustration of a soul meant to fly, yet chained;
feelings of despair and utter resignation.

A smile crosses his lips in his meditation,
"Surely the depths this soul has tumbled to
are sign of the height to which it soars;
Pluto and Zeus may both be damned!
The furthest reaches of their heavens
are breached by this love, love that redefines,
love that transcends even space and time.
Love that is of God."

In a flourish he is refilled, quickened,
absent of melancholy, of despair, of death:
suddenly he flies, flies to his own soul's height;
flies to life, to love, to her.
Again, as again, he is filled with her,
with vigor, with passion, with promise;
filled with the essence of life,
"Aphrodite's dream pales to this."

He conjures her, feels her, tastes of her;
she is his very mind, his heart, his soul, his body.
Her ways are his ways, and again, hers;
She is all he is, and all he is not.
He smiles, and weeps, is awash with her,
swept away in the consummation of her;
her mind, her heart, her soul, her body, all
perfectly fitting, perfectly opposed.

He smiles knowing the delicate caress of her fingers,
the moist light touch of her lips, the depth
and tranquility in her eyes, the intuitive way
she has with him, and he with her.
He is taken with the surge of love that envelopes
them as they join in sweet and tender moments;
forever revelling in and with one another,
each responsive, in complete harmony.

That they find such complete peace in each other
pleases him, brings him joy, a calm heart,
confidence, trust, love, a soul-felt smile;
those bits of heaven so lost in a life of angst.
To lie with her quietly, gazing into each other,
talking in soft tones about nothing and everything,
to caress and hold her gently, lingering lovingly;
this is the very essence of their heaven.

As he is swept away and outside himself,
his spirit surely in flight with hers,
his countenance becomes calm and ethereal,
that of pure joy, pure spirit, pure love.
And, as with all things complete, of this is born
something new, another side of their infinitude;
what was a feeling of ease, comfort, and warmth
is soon replaced by the rush of fire.

He is uneasy and excited, charged with animal desire,
driven, unsure of the course he might take;
knowing that the very nature of his passion has a power
beyond his own, beyond hers, beyond theirs together.
His blood races through his veins, quickening him,
his jaw tightens, every sinew and muscle tenses;
he is prepared to take and to be taken, lusting
for her perfect response, a scream of desire.

He sees her, feels her, knows of her incredible fire,
knows that it is her fire that sparks his own, new;
he craves the feel of teeth in his flesh, in hers,
the wanton passion in her every motion, her eyes.
He thirsts for her sweat, for the taste of her,
he hungers for the uncontrolled, fiery, yet fluent
clash of their passion, their physical fusion,
knowing that they each hold keys to perfect release.

He smiles a satisfied smile, "This fire will never die."
He knows too, that as their gentle and sensual
sharing is of heaven, so is this passion,
so pervasive, so complete, shared so deeply.
And again, as happens with he and his lover,
another aspect is born, he sees both, sated,
turn to yet another manifestation of their flight;
turning to yet more of their joy, their love.

He smiles while thinking of who he has been,
and where; knowing that it is she who opened
the gates of Hell and said "Come with me, love."
Knowing it is God who brought her to him, and he to her.
They were born as kindred spirits, minds so tuned,
hearts so needing to be opened, bodies afire;
That in this world they came to find one another
makes their reverence and gratitude absolute.

He reflects on this gift, as he knows she does,
that they, together, are more than they are;
knowing that what binds them, allows them this heaven,
is God's wish, God's grace, God's love.
He voices their soul, "Thank you God, for your perfect
and heavenly blessing. Thank you God, for her and
the love you've given us. Thank you God, for all
that we are, and all we will do, for you."

This too spawns reflection, and a wry grin
settles upon his face, a face which was for so long
creased by misunderstanding and discord;
she understands, she sees, she knows him.
He frolics in the depth of her mind, so very
complimentary to his own, he reveres the
depth of his own, brought about by her,
challenged, filled, torn down, built up.

He knows her, her depth and infinitude, celebrates
her vision, and shares it; is awed that they can
agree and disagree, delight in paradox and irony,
and turn from that, again to each other.
Music and poetry, philosophy and argument,
language and logic, discovery and introspection;
that they can consider and love these things together
brings eclectic completion to their world.

A tear pauses in his eye, his throat tightens,
and he sees those things which are truly of love
and of her and of them; he sees friends laughing,
harmonious laughter, she and he with them.
He sees children, their children, and the tear falls;
they are a happy, loving, and complete family,
a family inspired by, given by, and blessed by God;
this is the very essence of heaven, and of them.

He pauses, for he knows this to be the end;
he knows that, for them, to probe and grow,
to search and discover, to trust and have faith,
to nurture and to love is life and heaven itself.
He pauses for the Spirit and the Muse, "You have
blessed me with this, and I have tried, though
fallen short; for, as I knew at the start, this love
is of God, not of me. I am grateful for trying."

And, as he looks again and feels again,
a satisfaction comes over him, for he knows,
even if words fail, the feelings and reality
still exist and are shared with her, his love.
The light of their love shines so bright,
the flame of their passion burns so hot,
they will fly together, forever, into that star,
into that heaven, which is their love.