Love Is Denial
By Dave
Love is denial—
a monk in his cell,
chanting a name
he must never tell.
A litany whispered
in hunger and dust,
his lips to the stone,
his heart to the rust.
It is silence made sacred,
a fast of the soul,
a hermit in his cave
scooping light from a hole.
It is choosing the cloister
though the door stands ajar,
tracing her shadow
in the shape of a star.
It is kneeling to ashes
and calling them grace,
washing the feet
of a memory’s face.
Love is the rule
not carved but endured,
a discipline tender,
a sickness uncured.
It is watching the dawn
yet praying for night,
guarding the candle
but shielding its light.
It is not the embrace,
but the still, open hand—
the vow in the dark
than none understand.
Love is denial—
not absence, nore lack,
but the turning away
and no turning back.