A Ballad on Love

A totally true imagined fantastical story or...

A Ballad on Love

     dedicated to Roman and Marissa, on their wedding, 2009

  note: Marissa is believed to mean “of the sea”,
  or “star of the sea” or a combination of “Maria” and “Luisa”
  their present was a blue empty diary



The people screamed for bread and show,
Demanding gory, bloody action;
The gladiators from the shoulder
Unsheathed the swords in but a fraction

Of time, the Roman Colosseum
Was full of sweat and expectation -
A vulgar, heartless, dull museum
Of force and human degradation.

The gladiators – deadly brave;
One young and handsome, other older;
Up in the stands a woman waved -
She was a wonder to behold.

The younger swore: “Such eyes and grace
I haven't seen in any lands,
I'd wait forever to embrace
Her gentle waist or kiss her hand.

The older smirked: “Come on, you fool,
Let's do our deed – the nobles waiting.
It's not our job to dream or drool,
But cross our swords and beg the Fates.

The lady smiled, the youth was charmed,
She whispered and he heard it clear:
“Confront the brute and stand to arms,
I'll meet you in the future, Dear.”

“I like the date,” - was his retort,
“But where, how shall I know?
Oh, what a fool – I'll trust the Fates...
Not many eyes have such a glow.”

“You trust yourself, now go fight,
We'll meet again, just wait and see.
My name will sound pretty, light
And reminiscent of the sea.

And just to make it rather easy -
I'll blend Maria and Luisa.”

And so it went – the swords were crossed,
Who won or lost is little worry,
But up in time he rushed, of course
Through centuries, to end the story.

A little time had passed since then
And he recalled the woman plenty,
A little time had passed since then -
Just slightly less than two millennia.

Perhaps this verse is quite a lie,
A pompous mix of rhymes, who knows:
That's for the reader to decide,
But wait – ahead a moral glows.

They rushed through time and even space,
Decisions firm, through winds and danger
And from the sky dropped face to face
Inside the city of the angels.

Or, just to speak the truth, not ill -
The city of Granada Hills.

And so, fallen from the clouds,
His posture noble, rather Roman,
The guests were cheering but loud:
Afraid the bride, perhaps, eloped.

She came from waters of the sea.
“So what's your name?” - he questioned easy.
“Well, like I promised, as you see:
A blend: Maria and Luisa.”

“All right,” - he smiled, so let's not tarry.
Let's call the priest and promptly marry.

And yet the grimmest jest of all,
Or rather – best of happy endings
From books and Hollywood and all,
And best of morals ever standing.

They rushed through time to end the story,
The book was waning, pages thinning,
And yet there lies a book in glory,
An empty book of new beginnings.

The pages blank, and each a feather
They hold in hand, and skip the fate.
And artful book of bluish leather
To write, co-author and create.

A book to illustrate and cherish
For life, or more, or what they chose...
A book of art and love and heritage,
With all to win and naught to lose...

A silly story? True? Who knows?
The bride and groom can choose to change it.
From guests impatient whispers blow:
“We want the sparkles of Champagne!”

I think we all have had enough
Of flights through time and artful love
And lest the whisper be a clamor,
The poet's body dead and clammy -

Let's end the story with a cheer
To love and life with no fear,
And lest tradition be remiss
We'll seal the toast with a kiss...