Like
Hippolyta and Theseus,
with our
love unfurled,
we bring
order, stability,
steadfast
loyalty,
bright light
in a dark world.
Ours is not
a dream,
there’s no
magic in our art,
though to
others it might so seem,
we simply
play our part.
Cupid’s arrows
never struck,
with mysterious
love potions,
no magic
flower picked by Puck,
creating dreamlike
notions.
No accident,
no stroke of luck,
we do not
bumble,
seldom
stumble,
satisfied
each day
with what
life has had to say.
No
star-cross’d lovers,
hoping for
do-overs,
no need for
enchantment,
T’would just
impede our way.
We’ve turned
our dreams into reality,
true visionaries,
we let life be.
Even if our
love were a dream,
it would
need to be embraced,
but no
golden palace, no silver hill,
no white
elephant need be chased.
Our love,
like life,
though not a
dream, remains
unfathomable,
indescribable,
it simply
sits there, glowing.
We cannot
grasp it,
so we simply
bathe in its
perplexity,
revel in its
complexity,
be content
in never knowing.
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