165. Riding the whirlwind
My love is flying on wings of fire
never to rest but to always continue
forever ahead to new continents of exploration,
a nomad and rover and wanderer,
restless incurably like the wild wind,
but the freer for being without any bonds
or without any will that in any way can tie her down,
since she is only love; and love cannot exist
and survive but as free as the whirlwind;
and no one can tame love except he who rides any whirlwind,
the highest, most difficult and most advanced of all sports,
but the only one worth all the painstaking trouble,
the ultimate art, which the effort of conquering
only is its own reward, and the finest as such in existence.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2006-09-02 at 12:07
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