What is it with this romanticism?
Will it follow me to the grave?
Will I be afflicted with it in the afterlife?
I’m well past the procreative years.
Why does this romanticism linger?
Is it imprinted in the soul forever,
Or stamped on my DNA to never go away?
It is said in death one has no voice box
And surely no reproductive organs,
But I think one has a spiritual heart.
Is that where romanticism starts
And remains eternally in some?
But not in womanless sages
Who might transcend the need,
Who might not have the imprint,
Who might be rare anomalies
Unlike terminally romantic me.
Bob Boyd
Author: BobBoyd
80, last Piscean month, cancer survivor, work out 3 times a week, ride my exercise bike 2 hours daily. Began writing poetry October 2023, living in Greensboro, North Carolina, long ago from MA.
Retired and enjoying a solo, reclusive life, feeling fantastic and eternally youthful, always researching and gaining knowledge. Most of my poems are fictional, some are not.
I write about Spirituality, Mysticism, the Paranormal, 411s, Nature, Birds, Animals, Romantic Love, Death, Historical events like The Burning Times, Fictional Characters I Create, and much more . I write a minimum of 3 poems daily.
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