Paths in Late Afternoon

It is not easy, this thing called love.
At times, the path seems open and wide and obvious,
and other times it is rocky, slick
and full of peril.

There are flowers along the way,
and thorns,
and the light comes and goes.
There are detours, cleverly disguised as paths,

that can lead you to deadly, or almost deadly
precipices. And all too often there are no
signposts, or worse, the signs lie.
It is not easy,

and surrender seems more logical,
and far more safe, a low lying path
that leads you back to the valley,
where you can look up at the summit,

wishful and alone, or
you can stumble magnificently,
cut and bruised until you reach the mountaintop.
And you will,

The persistent are always rewarded,
even in love. or perhaps,
especially in love.

 

About this poem. 

I am fifty eight. I believe in love. Silly me.

Tom