Tell Me Of Another World
“Tell me of another world,” the broken heart
says, “one where love is never sad it loved,
and the word sorry never comes to mind.”
“Show me dear God, that anything I have ever
wept for will return, will reside, in my arms.”
As this month and its theme of Love draws to a close, it would seem incomplete to not discuss when Love is not reciprocated. Or worse, when another ends the love you’ve always known. The days seem dark and gray, finding your way seems trying. It is difficult to press on, but there are mountains, and forests, and oceans beyond the place that you now call home. Love is waiting, and we must go on, but that doesn’t mean that heartache isn’t as real and universal as true love. It is.
When I was suffering from a broken heart, I turned towards poetry. Although, I have not read any of his works, Tony Hoagland may have summed up why I read poems when I did not seem to be able to gravitate towards anything else. "So much of what I love about poetry lies in the vast possibilities of voice, the spectacular range of idiosyncratic flavors that can be embedded in a particular human voice reporting from the field. One beautiful axis of voice is the one that runs between vulnerability and detachment, between 'It hurts to be alive' and 'I can see a million miles from here.' A good poetic voice can do both at once.”
Love involves a certain degree of vulnerability, because believe me, you can be hurt. Then again, I believe with such strong conviction that Love, in any form, will be the greatest adventure you take and grandest legacy you leave.
“Tell me of another world,” the broken heart
says, “one where love is never sad it loved,
and the word sorry never comes to mind.”
“Show me dear God, that anything I have ever
wept for will return, will reside, in my arms.”
As this month and its theme of Love draws to a close, it would seem incomplete to not discuss when Love is not reciprocated. Or worse, when another ends the love you’ve always known. The days seem dark and gray, finding your way seems trying. It is difficult to press on, but there are mountains, and forests, and oceans beyond the place that you now call home. Love is waiting, and we must go on, but that doesn’t mean that heartache isn’t as real and universal as true love. It is.
When I was suffering from a broken heart, I turned towards poetry. Although, I have not read any of his works, Tony Hoagland may have summed up why I read poems when I did not seem to be able to gravitate towards anything else. "So much of what I love about poetry lies in the vast possibilities of voice, the spectacular range of idiosyncratic flavors that can be embedded in a particular human voice reporting from the field. One beautiful axis of voice is the one that runs between vulnerability and detachment, between 'It hurts to be alive' and 'I can see a million miles from here.' A good poetic voice can do both at once.”
Love involves a certain degree of vulnerability, because believe me, you can be hurt. Then again, I believe with such strong conviction that Love, in any form, will be the greatest adventure you take and grandest legacy you leave.
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