Romance
I bought the flowers,
Searching for romance,
But there I did not find it.
I wrote the letters of love,
Searching deeper,
But still I could not find it.
Then I met a blind man,
He was sitting on a large stone
At the side of a deserted road.
I asked him for the answer to romance
And he spoke to me in a riddle,
One that gave me the answer I craved.
In passion there is no thought or feeling,
Raw and uncut, the feeling breeds passion,
But inhabits it not.
Nor does thought reside in passion,
Yet without thought passion is misguided.
So too does romance require thought and feeling,
But make up romance it does not.
Guided by the purest heart and a mind of gold,
Wishing peace and Nature to be healed,
Wielding a unique creative instinct for love of old,
True charity in an experience revealed.
This passion of understanding found in a simple glance,
Is what makes up your precious romance.
You cannot learn it from a book,
Nor can it be found after a lifetime of interpretations,
But it is always there, if only for a moment, in a lovers
look,
And by listening to the voices of the swaying trees.
For romance is not a thought or a feeling,
But an experience not understood.
It overwhelms the senses,
And makes you view the world for what it is,
Truth be known for the good and bad alike.
Romance is the cause and the reaction
For both peace and war.
Bring to me the fool intent on finding romance,
And I will share the sights unseen by human eyes.
Blind to the sights of pain and pleasure,
Does not mean I cannot see the lies.
Truth and romance can only be found,
When in Solitude you hide,
Silence your only friend and guide,
To see the depths passion can reach and extend.
Enter my understanding
And never taste for knowledge again
But reflect before the decision be made,
For fear is my greatest ally and enemy alike.
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