[Calliope]: 216.Poems.Steady

Steady

My love could be called steady
Like the river in spring.
Or as steady as an Opera stars voice
In the range of melodies they sing.

It's about as steady
As a runner's panted breath
While they jog down the jagged path
Curving steadly towards the west.

But the steadiest thing
Comparable to my love
Is the wind before a storm
As it dances, shrieks and shoves.

So in reality my love
Is anything but steady
Dissimalar to many constant things
Since it's always jumping, always ready.

And while my love is hardly even
Nor as steady as a drum,
There's no need for him to worry
Since this spontaneity means he's the one.

This rampant emotion, with it's ups and downs
As professed in this rhyme,
Doesn't mean the love is weak
And unable to stand the test of time.

In fact it's probably just as good
If not better than the other.
Afterall, a wild, unpredictable love
Is less likely to supress and smother

So what if it's river rapids
And an arching, vibrant soprano?
So what if it's a potholed path
Or the winds that gust and blow?

Steadiness is overrated
While the peaks and spikes that arise
Will always produce a passion
That comes as a surprise.

So take away the calm
Lock and bury the sedate.
I need a love in return
That's consuming not innate.

© Angie O'Connor