cyrano love letters

Friday, October 12, 2012

EAGLE'S NEST OF LOVE

As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preserves Our Love

EAGLE’S NEST OF LOVE

I perch perpetually upon the Eagle’s Nest of Love.

High atop the Mountain of Passion’s tallest peak

my great wings yawn, eager to capture

the faintest whisper of a wistful wind.

Aloft, I silently soar earthbound,

a feathery arrow hurled from the Celestial Heavens

destined to protect and preserve your Sensual Soul.

I am the Eagle of your Love.

My talons are honed razor sharp,

Similar to the thorn armed to protect the rose’s fragile petals.

My talons guard your Love's Innocence...

...Its Beauty.

...Perfection.

...Purity.

Rarified is the air in my uncluttered Celestial Perch,

equalling the crystal clarity of your Pure Heart.

You are the Embryo of Love,

Its magical, mysterious Mother of Conception.

And I…

…I am the hmble guardian of its Trueness.

If True Love is the ultimate Pure Truth,

Then I am your Love Eagle Sentinel.

Soaring the Celestial Heavens,

shielding you

from

False Love’s

pompous pain

and

scurrilous suffering.

In life, we learn to Love.

When such Love fails, hearts break.

Our fragile Love Souls scar.

We recoil,

as from a hot flame,

fearing failed Love’s painful remnants.

A broken heart is a travesty,

a sin against Nature.

So I soar the sky,

eagle eyes scanning,

searching,

ever alert to defend your Pure Heart

from all who might abuse its Perfection.

I wing through eternity’s tunnels,

And pirouette on timeless updrafts,

Always vigilant of Love’s stalking poachers

Thirsting to steal your Precious Innocence.

The greatest such predator is Expectations—

Expectations are but battle lines.

They pit your beliefs of what you think Love should be,

in exchange for what you assume another provides parity.

Sadly, Heart Thieves cheapen such exchanges.

They prey upon vulnerable Expectations,

feed them,
seduce them,

returning nothing but disillusion.

These Love scavangers scuttle away unencumbered by your pain,

solely sated by selfish, hedonistic gain,

deaf to the silent screams of hearts breaking.

As your Eagle of Love

I swoop angrily upon such predators.

Talons razor ready.

I rip apart their false or selfish intentions

before they rape your Pristine Purity.

Is it not rape when an interloper forces your heart to yield?

Under false pretenses?

Employing selfish intent?

Unintended for discovering True Love?

The rape of any heart is a capitol crime, my Love.

As your Eagle of Love, I will not allow it.

So be wary of false Lovers

seducing your Heart’s Innocence.

Stand cautious of all intentions;

question purpose, depth and sincerity

Let Time not circumstances

measure the gold of their heart.

Be not blinded by Love’s first mesmerizing Blush.

And be assured, my most Loving Treasure,

that from the Eagle’s Love Nest high above,

I vigilantly patrol the safety of your Heart,

upon my Wings of Love,

and Talons of Thorns.

Forever Yours from the Nest of Love

Cyrano!

Anderson-McKenzie

As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preserves Our Love

© 2012, Cyrano! Anderson-McKenzie, C.A. McKenzie. All Cyrano! writings are original and created daily by the author. Anyone wishing to contribute funds to the maintenance and support of the Cyrano! blog should send their contributions to C.A. McKenzie, 53 East 7th St. #9, NY, NY 10003

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

LOVE'S TENDER FOOTSTEP

As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preserves Our Love

LOVE’S TENDER FOOTSTEP

Listen, my Love…

Hear the tender fall of frail feet?

Listen to the innocent padding of a child’s gait,

Navigating toward mother’s respite room.

How beautiful the echo of a child’s feet,

Creaking happily down a long hallway,

Arms outstretched, heart racing,

Eager to crawl upon mother’s bed and morning cuddle.

Love offers tender footsteps in all its countless seasons.

Take the old man and woman, strolling.

Crippled, arthritic hand-in hand they meander,

Tired feet slowly shuffling on crusted cobblestones.

Gravity has long since robbed their Spring of Life

But Time not the youth of their Undying Love.

Listen! I hear the scraping of their ancient Love’s soles,

Itching the backs of Love’s worn stone path.

And then there are Young Lover’s,

Listen! Their feet leap and bounce.

Hear them jump and jack toward the other?

Their sensual souls are puffballs on a windy day,

They zig and zag toward Love on tip-toe clouds.

Young Love’s feet rarely kiss Mother Earth.

Such footsteps muted by Love’s blinding Passion.

Until the day Reality crushes Virginal Visions

And Love’s Truth is stripped bare.

Now, Young Lovers walk with thuds,

No longer mesmerized by the ethereal,

They face the gravitas of Love’s most enduring step,

The one that follows the other, one at a time.

Love, my Darling, has many footsteps.

Some quiet, some soft, some loud, some sad.

True Love requires we brace for all the steps,

For endurance of Love is the test of the trek.

And I, my Darling, listen always for all your footsteps….

Forever yours in the Footsteps of Love,

Cyrano!

Anderson-McKenzie

As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preserves Our Love

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

THORNS OF LOVE

As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preserves Our Love

THORNS OF LOVE

How wonderful it is, my Dearest Love, to awaken to your soft, warm face staring into mine.

I know, it is a fantasy, an illusion, an apparition.

But, my Love, I yearn for the mornings when reality consumes the fantasy, shoves aside the illusion, and erases the fog of the apparition.

True Love is believing that what can be will be.

Despite the fact we are apart or great gulfs separate our Oneness, I still reach across the chasms of time and space and wrap your thought in my arms, holding you close, inhaling the breath of your lovely pores so your scent never escapes my senses.

For most men, loving what can be is tiring and fruitless. To such men, clinging to the threads of Love is grasping at straws. The average man’s head swings away from the Illusion of Love to its Reality. Urgency trumps purpose. To the impatient, Any Love will edge out the time demanded to realize True Love.

But I wait, my Darling.

I hold onto the thin threads of Love as though they were thick intertwined hemp. I don’t fear the darkness of not being Loved in return. Instead, I cleave fast to the Persian expression “he who wants a rose must respect the thorns.”

There are many thorns protecting the Rose of Love, the Rose of Our Love.

True Love, I believe, is earned, my Darling. The Thorns of Love temper Love.

To earn your Love I must lay many roses at your feet, scribe tens of thousands of words pooling in my heart that reflect my deep love for you, and dream mountains of dreams about what will be when are together, as one, unified. I must be relentless in my fidelity to you, and let nothing contaminate my waking thoughts except how such a thought relates to the depth and quality of my Love for you.

This is not an easy task. I confess, I battle waves of frustration, avalanches of loneliness, tsunamis of sadness.

With each breath, I fight off the Thorns of Love. I inhale with each breath your beauty and magnificence as a woman, a perfect person, a sensual being whose every heartbeat is a symphony, awakening the joys of nature, a being who ignites the stars and shines the moon, who perfumes spring flowers and purifysthe driven snow. I exhale loneliness, despair, discouragement, sadness.

Time freezes as I await your Love, my Darling.

I do not fret or fear the empty moments when you are not in my arms, for you remain a statue in my thoughts.

I Love you, my Dearest, my most Precious One.

I will always Love you in the allusion, and await the dawn of your Love’s Reality.

I cling fearlessly and forever, to the Thorns of Love.

Forever Yours,

Cyrano!

Anderson-McKenzie

As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preserves Our Love

Monday, October 8, 2012

CHILL OF LOVE

As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preserves Our Love

CHILL OF LOVE

Oh, the Chill of Love.

Crisp, shivering, electric!

I inhale the Chill of Love

When our eyes mate,

When our lips sate,

When embrace is our fate.

Feel the Chill of Love?

Sweeping from the north?

Icy breaths puckering worn pores

Igniting secret sensual shivers.

I await the Chill of Love.

It startles my somnolent heart

To pump with fury

At your thunderous thought.

Love's passion cycles as the seasons;

The Chill of Love stands as but one.

Reminding me always that ice

Follows the passion of fire.

I wrap my arms around your fleeing dream,

Blanketing it with my naked soul,

Yet still coveting the Chill of Love

Never fearing its cold awakening.

Forever Yours in the Chill of Love,

Cyrano!

Anderson-McKenzie

As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preserves Our Love

© 2012, Cyrano! Anderson-McKenzie, C.A. McKenzie. All Cyrano! writings are original and created daily by the author. Anyone wishing to contribute funds to the maintenance and support of the Cyrano! blog should send their contributions to C.A. McKenzie, 53 East 7th St. #9, NY, NY 10003

Sunday, October 7, 2012

PRETTY THOUGHTS

As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preserves Our Love

PRETTY THOUGHTS

My Dearest Darling,

I love a Pretty Thought.

Dressed in a soft pink dress,

Sweeping across the roof of my mind,

Pretty Thoughts, only of you, my Love.

I see your hair laced with ribbons,

Gentle pastels, palettes of Monet's rainbow.

How pretty, soft, seductive, sensual...

Thoughts of you dancing on Lilly pads.

Are you the nymph of my dreamworld?

Kneeling by Reflection's Pond,

Staring at Moon's Shadow,
Pirouetting upon a glass surface,

Ignited by star shafts...
Drizzling...
Earthward.

Pretty Thoughts.

Pillow my wandering mind,

Where dreams are born,

And Love gestates, evolves.

Pretty Thoughts.

Of lips touching eternity.

Restless hearts.

Laughing two as one.

Pretty Thoughts.

Reach for infinity.

Where ultimately opposites meet;

Love's parallels intersecting.

Love me, Pretty Thoughts.

As a newborn child.

Cleave to my soul,

Pretty Thoughts.
Love my dream forever.

Forever Yours,
Cyrano!
Anderson-McKenzie

As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preserves Our Love

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

LOVE'S CHILDREN--HAPPINESS

As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preserves Our Love

LOVE’S CHILDREN--HAPPINES

I was daydreaming today, my Dearest, about Love’s children.

Imagine if Love had children?

Who would they be?

What names would they be called?

What would their mission in life be?

Perhaps one would be named Happiness. Another Joy. Beauty would be another choice. One might carry the name, Passion.

Let me share my daydreaming with you about one of Love’s children—Happiness.

Would Love’s child named Happiness search the world for the sad and lonely and sit beside them, whispering in their ear how wonderful life could be if they smiled and danced and learned to Love themselves and others?

Is it possible for Happiness to wedge its way between the weight of sadness and loneliness, and for a brief moment, grace the tortured soul with Hope in the future?

I thought about this today, my Love, because I honor the quality of our Love, and wish everyone in the world could share what we have. But sadly, this isn’t true. And that’s why I thought long and hard about Love’s Children, and what impact they could have on this world.

Let me first share my thoughts about Happiness.

Can you imagine a lonely child lying in a cold bed, hungry, frightened, her mind drained of all Hope and Belief that there was a sunrise on the horizon and Happiness slipped into her room and knelt beside her and began telling her stories about the magic of life? What if this child were to listen to Happiness, and despite the pangs of hunger and scars from abuse welted on her frail body, she was swept up into the world Happiness described, and as she closed her eyes to listen to the story of wonderment in a land filled with laughter and joy, the hunger wrenching her body faded, and the cold of night was replaced with a sense of warmth, and the sores and scars crisscrossing her abused frame were erased, replaced with a smooth, gentle flow of sun-toasted skin and scented with lilacs?

Happiness.

For one small moment, this ravaged child entered the world that Happiness created. And instead of a grimace, the young girl’s face softened and the corners of her mouth turned up into a gentle, satisfied smile streaked her face. And even though when Happiness was forced to leave the girl’s side, and the cold, cruel world in which she was tethered to returned with all its ugliness, the girl could hold onto that Moment of Happiness she experienced the night before. And, like a treasure coveted by a child, she stuffed that memory into her pocket, clenching it into her fist so that no one could take it from her. Then, when night came or the hand of abuse or whip of hunger pained her body, she shut her eyes for a brief moment and relived the stories that Happiness had told, and was whisked away from the brutality of her existence into a world where Love made all things possible, and the arms of thousands wrapped themselves around her in caring comfort, to remind her the Hope was the fuel of survival, and that one day she could find the same endless Happiness that Love’s Happiness had gifted her but for a moment.

Of course there are many other chores that Happiness could easily perform. But her biggest of all gifts would be to teach the child to learn to Love Love, and believe in Love, from the inside out, so that no external force or circumstance could rob the child of the knowledge he or she was Loved, and that on the Horizon of Life burned the star of Hope.

I am tired, my Love.

My inkwell is thirsty.

With your permission I will write more about Love’s Children tomorrow, or the next day. But for now I ask you to pray for the Happiness of all children, and I hope that one day when we have our own, they will all be Children of Happiness.

Forever Yours,

Cyrano!

Anderson-McKenzie

As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preserves Our Love

Saturday, September 29, 2012

MOON KISS

As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preserves Our Love

MOON KISS

Oh, my Darling, who do you kiss before you sleep?

I kiss the moon.

The Lover’s Moon.

The Moon of your heart.

Up high in the cerulean sky

Before night swallows day,

The Moon of Love peeks

At eyes about to sleep.

I wait for luna’s elevation,

Brilliant silver embracing velvet,

The Eye of Love to cast shards

Of Love’s Moonbeams into our hearts.

In reverence I purse my lips at dusk

And kiss the moonbeams nuptial flight

To all the Lover’s about to sleep,

A reminder that Love never does.

Kiss the moon, my Love.

Kiss its sensual beams.

Embrace its silver heart.

For my lips touch its face.

Loving You With Every Moonbeam,

Cyrano!

Anderson-McKenzie

As the Thorn Protects the Rose, My Pen Preserves Our Love