by Steve King
© 2010
All rights reserved
I have been reminded
many and enough ways,
that love alone will ever serve
to rectify our days.
Love is a hardening prison:
we toil in passion’s chains;
and when our term at last is spent
we seek that cell again.
Tangled in these fetters
I struggle not so much;
my torture is to languish here,
glad for my jailer’s touch.
I shall never weary
of love’s most shackling songs,
nor wonder, as you’re singing them,
to whom they next belong.
