Speaking from my excellent backround
of never-ending double-heartache
I proclaim to not understand,
not even in the faintest,
the meaning of love.
To what degree does true love matter
when nature's need for procreation
recreation
and population
flow in our veins like sap through her trees?
I've felt love
and felt it leave many times
and I can't say
"I did not love them all."
Indeed, what love I've known,
that is acquired
and is not born into my blood
has virtually vanished back into the sea of souls
that I myself reside in.
To what point is it then
to continually search for something
as quick-to-vanish as love seems to be?
If my heart decieves me
what am I to trust in as my compass
pointing me love's great many splendors?
It seems to me that lust is far more concrete
if not as fulfilling
as love
but then
how rich is the dame
with no actual dollars?
If love's not worth searching for,
and lust quenches the empty, however hollow
and
if heart's not to be followed
what can save us from the hate
who's meaning's all too plain?

08/18/2003

Posted on 08/18/2003
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