Love . . .
There are dreams that are forever
Dreamt again in fullest flower
From buds borne from the flower's seed
And nourished by the flower's need
For love
Itself is just a dream that is within itself contained,
And so, as long as love is trustful
Will love be love by love sustained.
No mystery is within these words,
They're only what I've learned
By forging nightmares out of dreams,
From errors that have burned like coals
Until, in time, they heal;
Leaving scars upon the soul they temper love like steel
Is tempered by the soothing oil that quenches
Furnace heat from fine-wrought blade
Until an edge both smooth and supple
By the Swordsmith's hand is made.
Love's the cusp that cuts through time
And endures the cruelest armor
To penetrate the heart of passion
And withdraw, unmarred by use to shine
And stir the hearts of lonely men.
Yet does love all souls unite
But not until the brave souls fight
And learn the truth, that both must yield
Each to the other to properly wield
The love they crave.
Love's a blade and love's a flower.
Love is renewed by the hour.
Love is what we all desire;
To be consumed by love's enduring fire
And be reborn from love's warm ash
To love again.
What is love? I do not know.
I cannot bear my heart to you.