Love Speeding Through

What is there to know about love?

Or not to know.

It is there,

Runs over you like a freight train

Leaving you tattered, breathless, confused,

Out of place and time,

For as long as it wishes,

Wondering, hoping,

But for what? For what?

You are helpless.

It is a storm, a tempest really.

You simply need to weather it

And after it has passed

(If it does pass)

Leaving you in disarray

In its wake,

Perhaps then you can return again

To as you were before, untouched, unchanged,

But most likely

You will be altered forever,

Improved as it were, enlightened perhaps,

As only love can make you,

Your skin sizzling with sensitivity,

Your mind taut and bright yet introspective,

Heightened and wary

For the next train passing through.

Copyright © 2009 by Michael Estabrook

Michael Estabrook is a published poet of numberless poems in various anthologies. He is currently working on a project titled “The Patti Poems.”