Love is a rope . . .

Two ends held together

By gifted mystery —

Lived mutuality until

Opposite forces appear

Attempting to separate one

Into two.

The strength of a rope

Can be measured.

The mystery of love

Can not.

You can not see love

Pulling apart —

All you can do is feel

Pride pulling at each end

Until love is gone.

“I will not serve, no, you serve me.”

“My way is best, better than yours.”

“Me first, forever, me first.”

Pride always gets what it wants —

A broken rope.

Make me a rope.

God who is love . . .

Make me a rope.