|Madonna With the Milk Soup, 1510, Gerard David|
for a soul-mate, lover, love.
Unconditional love for another,
is very blurry, it's human nature,
to find holes and flaws in a partner.
A mother feeling her child grow
inside her swollen belly, depending
on her, and her alone for months
until as it's destined to happen,
the baby is born, into this cold world.
Miraculously, women withstand a pain
that is forgotten in the moment when
her baby is swaddled in her arms, so
small, helpless, and as her belly goes down,
her heart is swollen to the point of bursting
open with the love she can't explain.
A love so pure, innocent, perfect,
that it makes all other love seem
shallow, hollow, unworthy, untrue.
For the way a lover loves isn't lasting.
It fades in time until the flicker of light
dies out in the middle of the night.
Holding her innocent child, feeding,
nurturing, worrying about things unknown.
No person knows the worry, the love,
the pride, the sense that nothing
could ever make her stop loving her child.
This is the real love, the only love absolute.
@ donetta sifford 12-24-2013
Written for: The Mag