Boulder

You have attached a boulder to a chain
And call it love. It is not what I know
As love. You take it everywhere you go,
Insisting it's not any kind of strain—
That if it hurts, well then you like the pain.
Your friends move by within the natural flow,
You watch them pass, then shuffle, hunched and slow,
Behind their dancing steps. It's worth it though.

I do not know how I can make it plain:
Love should not be a weight you have to tow.
Love should be wings, and flames, and alpenglow,
The quiet home in whipping storm and rain.
I tire; my exhortations all in vain.
I leave bolt cutters lying by your chain.