A Simple Argument

Roses are red
Violets are purple
These lines of flowers’ simplicity,
Missed the point of love’s true identity
For roses grow pink, white, yellow,
Probably any color requested
And violets have never been blue,
Love is a choice and I choose you.

True, but roses are red
And if violets were blue,
These four simple lines
Convey I love you, too.


One thought on “A Simple Argument

  1. “…the point of love’s true identity” is hard to figure out here. are the two stanzas two sides of an argument, and if so, the first is saying love is a choice and the second one is saying love is…whatever rhymes or fits the lines given, thus not a choice but determined by other forces beyond one’s control? Like all your poems, this one creates a good afterlife of questions. Life and love are imperfect, thus we go towards poetry–art–to see life and love made perfect. But, in doing so, your poem seems to ask, via this imaginative bridge, Is Love made all the more a fiction. Dostovesky once said something along the lines that we have Literature, that is, Lies, so as to not die of the truth. During the day one lie I tell is that we care, generally—human beings—about each other. We could not, I tell myself in the moments just before the night’s dark hour, create King Lear or On the Road or Wentworth’s “Romancers” without a profound sense of The Other, without a deep connection to God. Surely, were it true this thing called life was a joke, nothing more, and a cruel one at that, we’d have no Dickinson, no One Poem Every Day, no freakin’ Rumi. But my clock in the darkest part of night ticks and ticks, and though I hear my little girl in her sleep, just feet away, breathe, calming me, I know the truest hour always comes, flaunting its parade of stars: Slavery. Germany. Bosnia. Rwanda, those hundreds of girls abducted and the thousands of girls abducted before them that, without the aid of a Facebook salvation of “Likes,” wound up raped and mutilated. History vs. that thing in us that loves, writes, holds the hands of other children, not just our own. Which one is our ‘true identity’? I side with Love. And though I do not know if this is true, in this particular case, it feels better to live out a lie…

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