On Love

Love is the reason due to which,

The heart’s slow putrefaction,

Finds no pain, but seems,

Within a universe of eternal solitude,

Purpose filled.

It’s the reason,

A lover dares to jump lacking wings.

Fearless, for if fallen,

Believed it is, that their bleeding heart’s beholder,

Will catch them before they land amidst a sea of needles and stones.

While they themselves stand on top of their cutting heads

Not in agony, in eagerness to be found arm in arms with their life fan.

Then with time,

Lovers won’t try to fly anymore,

But will be willing to just reunite with their counterpart,

Yet after a not so long while, the counterpart grows weary,

They can no longer be called beholders of pumping lungs of life.

And when the lover falls,

He does fall,

Into the needles,

Against the stone,

And a once love bleeding heart,

Bleeds still, but now of hate and sorrow.

And the counterpart falls as well,

But into another person’s life,

Into another persons love

And now beholds another person’s heart.