Love's Ado

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Love, it is that vacant spot, the thing that winsome writers jot Down hoping to perceive more clear, the thing which we all grow to fear...

Submitted: May 25, 2017

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Submitted: May 25, 2017

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Love, it is that vacant spot, the thing that winsome writers jot

Down hoping to perceive more clear, the thing which we all grow to fear

 

For much too easy it comes near, and far too often, disappears

 

Leaving fingers stretched in vain, bringing tears down like the rain

 

Love, it is our greatest pain, the thing that warps great men in shame

For neither fortune, nor their fame, can succor them from such a bane

 

Love, it is a dangerous game, with rules that few can ever name

And many faces, true and false, to blind all those it may accost

 

With rosy dreams of silk and lace, or cherished lips they long to trace

It offers poisoned, juicy fruit, which tastes like heaven’s stolen loot

 

Love, it is a tempestuous thing, for which our mouths may scream and sing

It is the reason we all feign, and accept each foolish, hurtful dream

 

Love, it is a precious find, which in truth we do not mind

For all its wasting up of time, it still erases every line

 

Dividing us in heart and mind, and leaving us within a bind

 

Love, it is our strangest friend, that leads us on straight till the end

 


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