Starcrossed in Translation

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

If music be the code of love

The word of love is one that must be said

More quietly than heart’s own quietest beat.

The word is quiet like the blood’s in dread

Of veins. Its arteries feel bittersweet

If love is shouted in the pound and push

Of lust too soon.  The word of love deserves

A whisper from a prophet’s burning bush.

A law of prophets bows and then preserves

The coded meanings of the space inside

Your chest and later comes the music king

Who serenades in softest notes applied

From strings and throat, so soft they have to sting.

  They sting to death the imperfection of

    Untroubled feelings, foreigners to love.

David, Saul and Jonatthan 

February 24, 2206