Poem By Edwin Palin
God created man and from him woman
Then did he not also create love, strife
God mends the sprit, but then who mends life
Surely, life can be mended like a stitch on a torn pocket
Therefore, we see love conceived as a quilt
Rent then patched upon patch.
If love were life then marriage would be its embroidery
Love, the holy sacrament of marriage is torn asunder by jealousies and greed
But it is rebuilt piece upon piece, sweat upon tear
Built like the Colossus of Agidies
Never to fall, never to separate, but to anneal, to mend itself
Happiness the sweet babe of life, a mirage of harlequins dancing in the Hall of Doges
Surely, sorrow must be the cargo that happiness caries for without bliss would be foreign
Is solace the only grail or do we find it in another
Happiness unfolded upon the tapestries of life surely is more than a fouls tweet or the clouds parting
The inner spirit struggles to the surface, bursting with its import of happiness
Yes, and shall they sing the sweet song of birth, but let sorrow tread upon silvery threads
The glooms of many Verdun’s, the travesties of a dead Christ.
Loves happiness broken and torn asunder by the devils own avarice.
Men, stitch, and patch it all back together as Humptie’s soldiers could not
Then stand alone; stand together just because of it.
e raoul palin