Love 1

Love (1)

Love wounds us.

Like tribal scars,

Love marks us,

Shows us as new

Initiated beings.

Parallel slashes

Of raised scar tissue

Label us as different.

Love hurts us:

The brief bold cut

Dripping hot blood

Shows us changed,

Reinvented daily.

Only those who share

Our pattern of scarring

Can see and know

The person we have become,

Or see the beauty and power

Of those indelible wounds,

Invisible to those untouched

By Love’s kind blade.

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2 thoughts on “Love 1

  1. Lovely. Yes, the scars of love cannot be seen by those who’ve not been touched by love…and it’s good in a way. Even if they could see the scars…they wouldn’t understand them.

    – Shafali

    • I think this poem came out of some great sadnesses in my life at the time it was written but it’s been read in many ways.
      yes, love wounds us, but that is maybe no bad thing. I have some scars from surgery; without that surgery I would probably have died. I also thought of the metaphysical poets and the poem that begins, “love bade me welcome, but I drew back, guilty of dust and sin”, though I cannot for the life of me now remember whether it was my dear John Donne or the lovely George Herbert who wrote it….
      I was also thinking of the Tanzanian surgeon who operated on my daughter when she was 2. Despite being a consultant surgeon, this great big man had his tribal scars incised onto his face, from his home country and probably from a boyhood ritual entering into manhood. I only knew what the scars were because I had seen them in books, but it meant I knew something deep but unspoken about his origins.

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