Love
To see the depths of life, my friend,
Pales in comparison with living it.
From it's bosom we witness joy -
The signature of deity - as pain,
The likes of which may constrain
A good man's efforts unto nothingness,
And shake the poor even deeper into the same.
But what is the blood that blood finds reason?
Aye, that is love, and her beauty is game
Enough to drive romantics to abstain reason,
And speak words that drip like honey
From their poetic minds. Love:
Her name drives a man to attraction;
She heals the wounds that are inflicted worse
Than any physical force can inflict,
And yet she retains her beauty all the same,
As if a day never passed, and mutability
Were made a fool from her presence.
To love is to live indeed,
To to live our lives as one, freed.
To see the depths of life, my friend,
Pales in comparison with living it.
From it's bosom we witness joy -
The signature of deity - as pain,
The likes of which may constrain
A good man's efforts unto nothingness,
And shake the poor even deeper into the same.
But what is the blood that blood finds reason?
Aye, that is love, and her beauty is game
Enough to drive romantics to abstain reason,
And speak words that drip like honey
From their poetic minds. Love:
Her name drives a man to attraction;
She heals the wounds that are inflicted worse
Than any physical force can inflict,
And yet she retains her beauty all the same,
As if a day never passed, and mutability
Were made a fool from her presence.
To love is to live indeed,
To to live our lives as one, freed.
