Today's prompt was a fill in the blank thing: The (blank) of Love, and we were to decided what word went in the blank, use that as the poem's title and off you go.
I do not like love poems.... Well, I suppose that is not entirely accurate. I like Robert Burns' love poems well enough, and I fancy if I put my mind to it, there are a number of other poets whose romantic verses have moved my. But I do not like writing love poems. They are not really my thing. Indeed, any sort of highly personal writing is far out of my comfort zone. I write about things, preferably things which can be expressed mythically (if you take my meaning), things that are universal, perhaps even emotional, but in which I am never more than a passing figure. I was not excited about today's prompt, nor did I have much hope for it. But I did manage this:
The Debt of Love
(Passion Week, 2017)
You wrote Your Love against the sky
In iron, gall, and Your own red blood.
I turned and left You hanging there -
I thought it no more than my due.
I took in stride the dying words
You wrote in pain with blood and wood.
I mouthed my thanks and walked away
And took no farther thought of You.
But in this Dark Night of the Soul,
I read those love notes, writ in blood.
I know the burden of my choice:
Too late, too little have I loved You.