“Love is the closest thing to magic”

This crucible of love,
where the heat of unrequited passion,
distills wistful and vacuous heart vapors
to a reduction of
hollow and sterile aphorisms
leaving only a sticky residue,
of disenchantment and regret,
calcinations of covetousness,
laced with,
and frivolous intent.
With surgical precision,
dissecting lust and love,
reducing to cinders,
metal from mettle,
bravery from bravado
the alchemist’s Waterloo,
a deflective cadence
resolving to
a diminished key
of a song unlived. 
Asacred seedling launched
from the depths of a pure and focused heart,
trajectory set for another
delivering a payload of
trust minus doubt,
beguiling sans possession,
significance beyond substance,
refuge from cruel and dispassionate
storms of life,
aloneness without isolation.
deep and silent souls
as only spirits can,
exquisitely ordinary,
profoundly pure,
believing in forever
without the need for proof
in this crucible of love.
Copyright © Henri Ferguson 2012 All rights reserved.
Author Notes
Cancer is a hideous disease that plays no favorites and is unrepentant in the lethal manner in which it ravages precious life one cell at a time. We fight back with all that is medically available to us and tragically it is never enough. I understand now and feel in every fibre of my body that the only thing cancer cannot destroy is the power of love. Every single day I witness my beautiful wife Michelle, she my heroine, Joan of Arc don her coat of armor and go out on that battlefield doing what only she can do. I am powerless to change any of this; I am a silent but seething witness to cancer’s merciless bullying and step into this fire and let the searing heat temper my unwavering commitment to my soul mate in this crucible of love.