There must be at least fifty ways
to declare your love.
Some decide to sing it,
shaping it with verse and melody
into a song, beautiful and profound;
or, borrowing words from a poet,
recite it with drama and passion.
Others make it into a dance,
enacting with rhythm and movement
the intentions of heart and mind.
You might employ the red swelling bud of a rose,
perhaps a ring crafted from gold, or silver;
or even chocolates, hand-made and wrapped in foil.
You can spray it, multi-hued, upon a waiting wall,
whisper it in private by the glow of a candle,
shout it, unashamed, with joy;
or weave it into a cheerful scarf.
You could write it with a roller pen;
if you prefer, use quill and ink on parchment paper,
with X-es on the bottom.
It can be painted with pixels,
pulsating with light on the screen of a computer;
you might post it in a blog,
solicit lots of likes on
Facebook,
or even print it off and pop it in the mail.
You might make a clever video,
upload it to
Youtube, and hope that it goes viral.
Your message of affection can be carved earnestly
into the bark of a tree,
or spelled out in a blooming daffodil surprise,
emerging from the earth when Spring comes.
You could raise your arms
to the swelling chords of an electric organ,
with fingers splayed towards the imagined heavens;
or speak of your devotion ecstatically
in the languages of angels.
But in the end,
neither the words
nor the manner of their expression
seem to amount to much at all;
If you love me, the Carpenter said,
you will do what I say.
© Ken Rookes 2014
