Love Poetry, Love Poems, Romantic Poetry, a Romantic Poem

The truth is held in a
certain green tree on an uncertain globe
of mud and all
things forgotten.
We cling to the tree,
like ornaments,
some last year's tinsel, others
robust golden pears,
until we are tossed out to
the regular nowhere
and ground into mud and all things forgotten
and forever lie somewhere
beneath the truth trying to
read the map of an uncertain globe.

© Montana Blue