Prelude (Reposted)


If love to living lends the flavour
You would be tasteless not to share
This cup where two as one may savour
The mystery beyond compare

The seasoned year time’s greed devours
As sweet with bitter intertwines
But love works sorcery with the hours
Like the fermenting of rare wines

Yet love’s no splendour quite so splendid
Nor seems to promise quite so much
As when its flavour hangs suspended
Between a suspicion and a touch

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on March 6, 2016, in Poetry, Quatrain and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. 8 Comments.

  1. Interesting experiences that led to writing this, I’d imagine …

    Liked by 1 person

    • I trust you have similar memories? 🙂 It was written back in 1980.


      • I would say yes, back in my ’30’s, which would put me in the ’80’s as well. SO glad I am no longer in that twisted state of anxiety – ugh. When certain people say, ‘Oh, I’d give anything to be 18, 20, 30 … again,’ I think, ‘You must be brain-dead.’ I wouldn’t go back to yesterday, nevermind those painful lessons of youth. Cheers, BN!

        Liked by 1 person

      • I have no *longing* to relive my life at all, although I certainly wouldn’t mind having all the good bits (of which there were many) again. 🙂 And I’d also like to have some scenes and situations over again so that I could act in a wiser and/or kinder way second time round.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: