Poem.

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Heyyyy a little short undersized poem about a huge thang xxx

Love leads The Way like a Boulder
Like a Mountain
Like a Searchlight
Guided
By the Past
The Aching eons of
Time
Hurtling forward
Always
Destroying the Future.

 


Poetry Critique.

In the 1st line
'Love leads The Way like a Boulder'
we get a sense of weight and momentum. Perhaps indicating the weight of the heart, or power of passion, or the security of love, certainly the POWER! Either way this use of the word boulder is open to many interpretations and if the boulder is rolling, then it is certainly a strong and solid enough object to 'lead the way.' I also know from inside knowledge that the artist means a Sisyphus sized boulder and actually, I'm surprised he didn't....never mind!

 
This feeling is reiterated by the use of 'Mountain' with a tact change in
'Like a Searchlight' again here reinforcing the nature of Love, the search of the soul to find a mate and then perhaps the notion that love can lead, by lighting the way forward.

Then...
'Guided
By the Past
The Aching eons of
Time' shows the inseparable nature of time, in literal terms, into the man made realms of 'past' and 'future'. Time is one continuum, one Journey.

The word 'aching' is about the human condition, about the ache of existence, love and the slow creaking nature of Time, as it spans the abyss.. Perhaps. Because and but, then, this is dramatically contrasted with 'Hurtling forward' as if this abyss is leaped, at least within the mind's capability, the past and the future here again reaffirmed as inseparable, everything existing in the moment. The now being all powerful.


Then lastly we have the rather interesting use of the phrase, 'Always
Destroying the Future'. This is not meant negatively, there is no sense of woe here although perhaps open to some sense of lament, but rather of power and definiteness. Time will always move forward, the future therefore becoming the past and of course in this sense being 'destroyed.' I find this line rather dramatic and there is always lament in the passing of Time. Herein nostalgia. Love perhaps a very heady concoction of all, of the above.

PB.

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