Moved: previously located elsewhere on site. Poem first written 12/01/2014.
A few years ago, I wrote a short poem about the moment of becoming love-struck. I’ve found over the years that many people don’t really believe in it. Instead, they look for the slow-growing love of familiarity and comfortable adoration. I don’t think either is bad, and I do like to think that both exist. In some ways, that is a discussion point in the second novel of mine, Love’s Lost. If old tales told us of Cupid, then they tell us of becoming love-stuck. And Cupid, or his cultural equivalents, have existed for a long time. Was it always thought that Cupid didn’t really exist? Or if our modern society does not believe in Cupid, is that an acknowledgement that people don’t become love-struck? Has Cupid, and the real-world risk-taking fun of falling in love, been lost to cynicism?
I’d like to believe that love can strike, suddenly and powerfully. Maybe, really, it’s just lust. But why not dream of more?
A moment
The lightning strikes,
The world stands still.
The rivers freeze,
Electric thrill.
In breathless air,
A timeless place,
Our gazes meet,
With Cupid’s grace.
A new world calls,
A place to share,
A different fate,
If we but dare.
Anthony Le Sueur 