The Value of Love

What is the Value of Love, you ask?

Tis folly to seek that which has no substance, said they

For what is of value unless it can be locked away

Stored safely in a vault or under the watch of a trained watchman

Or inventoried and shelved among other items of worth

Counted and kept orderly under the rules of those

Those who engage in the business of substance

All things orderly and categorized and certainly with equality

That is the way of things worth anything, said the collective they

But I digress, for that which lies at the heart of the matter

Are the matters of the heart and the feelings that matter

And when presented to the counters and men who keep watch

The ones called they and them and those types stand stoic

Lost are they as if blinded and unable to process sound

As if the things which inspire hold no position among them

What standing can something hold if it can’t be held?

How may we measure that which is without substance?

So says the they, for their truth is shallow and materialistic

Lost to the ways that were never within their discovery

Adamant that value is finite and must be calculated

As the they and the them repeats and doubles their efforts

For what is the value of love when it holds no space?

Nothing to measure, compare, combine, or collect?

No size or shape and void of motion or matter or construction?

And as if to render a final commanding argument

Tis folly they say as they do often do, to put feelings first

Neither second nor next or anywhere in the counted list

Tis a time when time is lost upon the fool in love, they say

To give credence to that which isn’t bonded and correlated

As if the mere thought of anything beyond a bound text

Or written compact, agreement or bill of trade

Might serve to bring the freedom and magic of true folly

Where excess and imperfection collides with wild abandonment

When the wispy fingers of souls reach across the chasm of infinity

Hours passed lost in the vision of beauty found in a moment

Eternities forsaken for but a veiled glance or gentle smile

Words spilling forth as if woven by the sun and the moon

Professions of passionate moments and perpetual engagements

But rejected soundly and with a boisterous moment of closure

And yet, so are the ways of the them and the they

Who reject the heady enlightenment of loose control

The folly of nights spent in embrace and softness

That is the way of the watchers and counters and the those

Those who cannot fill the empty lines and spaces

The they and the them who disavow the eruption of color

Unless it comes in the shade of green, gold or silver

The ones who see but never truly engage their sight

For the them and those and full gatherings of the they

I’m without tactics and strategies to render the discussion favorable

And since nonesuch logic will be anything near acceptable

It must be that I should break protocol and shout above the business

To empty my lungs of all that which must be stated

I say unto each and to all, how do you love?

What number do you assign to a lifetime of bliss

When one and one do not equal two, but equals one

Surrendering that which is safe and secure in a vault

For something which has infinite value to those who aren’t part of the they

Giving everything over to feelings and trust

Commitments with nary a document or signatory

How shall you score the rushed flutter of a first kiss?

Or the second, third, and waterfall of them all

Count them you may, but for nothing more than counting

None carrying more value than their counterpart

Cast off your ambitions for wealth and substance

Take off the cloak of your economy and yourselves

Embrace that which has warmth and a beating heart

Taste the flavor of passionate passion and the hot heat

The licking flames of burning desires shall fuel you

With a sweated brow and my breath still uncaught

I looked amongst the gathering of the cabal of they

Eyes lost to what I had spoken and head shaking

And as no one stepped forth to speak, I continued

But for a moment as I prepared another soliloquy

One gentle soul did cough and then sheepishly whisper

What shall you do when your pockets are empty?

When you have no coin nor paper to trade with?

And your accounts are below the balance line?

With a slight smile, I offered a retort of personal fame

My good man, and those who stand among him

I have infinite wealth; her name is Shannon

She fulfills my life as no other could or would

I have loved her through this lifetime

And I shall love her again in the next

She feeds my soul and cherishes my self

I remember the taste of her in every moment

Her breath is always warm upon my chest

Each embrace is part of my forever memory

Each second an infinity of new worlds being created

My memories are filled with a collection of smiles

I hear her whispering across the universe

If only to say that she is missing me

And making sure that I’m safe and free of pain

And when we’re together, we are unstoppable

Her delicate, beautiful, radiant wonderment

It still stops me halfway in stride in wonderment

For ours is a love like no other

Author’s Note – Explaining the Value of Love

This poem was written for my wife Shannon, who is my everything; my heartbeat, my muse, and my soulmate.  Throughout my writing career, I have put the two of us in different times, different worlds, different cultures, and more.  This episode is a time when wealth was the focus of every young man; think early America at the dawn of the Industrial Age.  As the world changed into an industrial-based society, men made their fortunes and we’re not shy about telling the world how rich they were.  I pictured myself as a young man with an eye for love, rather than an eye for money.   I spend much of the piece trying to convince the money-men that love had more value than anything kept in a vault or under lock and key, but to no avail.  Finally, near the end, I can almost picture myself standing on a desk in a crowded financial office, professing my love for my wife Shannon and how love exceeded anything else from a value proposition, only to be met by blank stares from the men who only cared about money.  I overly use the terms they, and them, on purpose, as to create a stereotype approach that shows an imbalance with most men of the day being in love with wealth rather than a beautiful woman.  Thanks for reading!

Additional Works from this Author

Romantic Poetry Published on The Gypsy Thread

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R J Schwartz

I write about everything and sometimes nothing at all.I'm fascinated by old things, rusty things, abandoned places, or anywhere that a secret might be unearthed.I'm passionate about history and many of my pieces are anchored in one concept of time or another.I've always been a writer, dating back to my youth, but the last decade has been a time of growth for me.I'm continually pushing the limitations of vocabulary, syntax, and descriptive phrasing.

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