Written around 2000, when I was reading a lot of 17th, 18th century English literature and obviously influenced by Milton and John Donne. (Posting on blog because I’m cleaning up webhard)

What is it that makes love so great
That centuries did sing its grace.
What tempting story has love told
That poets, artists, sold their souls?

Tapestries with veins of blood, love spun
And threaded two wholes into one.
Love was the spark that lit the fire
And curdled dark cauldrons of desire.

Love gleamed in jealous eyes of jade
The creeping shadow in the shade.
Love raised the arm that held the knife
Trembling Othello, who killed his wife.

In the hands of the shepherd who tended his sheep
The whispered prayers of a child before going to sleep
In the eyes of a Ghandi fighting for peace
The naked dance of the nymphs in a vivid Matisse.

Now look at her eyes that reflect all your soul
Feel the warmth of her skin that makes you a whole
Hear the laugh of the child that carries your name
And ask me not what makes love so great.