Woe is You!

Only in Dreams
By Malcolm

There is a garden, so the old ones say,
That but two of our race have ever seen.
We lost more than paradise that day,
When Eden lost its naked king and queen.
For we lost the way to where love first grew;
The pathway to that ever fertile plot
Where man’s flesh, once removed, God formed anew
Into that other which Adam long sought.
On nights when dreams, or perhaps memories,
Descend to the watchful heart from on high
An ancient longing is briefly appeased
When man’s lost lover visits the minds eye.
Love’s young hope dies as the morning light grows
And man’s dream fades back into the shadows.

You are writing like a Pagan, you pustulating carbuncle! You think you are writing about love, but you are merely infatuating about infatuation. Christ is risen, Eve is redeemed. We don’t need to wander, sighing, among weeping willows. Our love lives in us! It is greater than us. No earthly limitation, not time, not distance, not idiocy, can separate us from love, and so, you are not safe from love’s demands. Your nightly visitor is a demon, sent to distract you from the real work of love. Here’s an idea: go talk to a real woman, instead of falling in love with a figment! You will find that women are annoying, talkative, confused, prideful, argumentative, and that at times they smell bad. Hard to like, harder to love: but that is the fun of it! That is Life!