An emotion so wonderful, so overwhelming it makes others fall on their backs. The blood pumping, fluttering, sensational feeling that describes the one emotion that in essence is the reason for our being. The invisible power that when wielded properly can tame the harshest of all beasts, all contained in a vessel stored within your breast. It has destroyed nations, inspired others, crushed those who stand in its way, and it forgives the tainted souls that inhabit this Earth. Resembled in a symbol, placed upon paper, stored amongst the rest, with kings, queens, jokers, and jacks. Such an important possession that if lost we loose all motivation. You cannot feel it in a way you would feel another’s cheek, you cannot feel it as you press your lips upon another’s, you cannot feel it as you hold one of your own blood; but you feel it within your soul. So vast a feeling cannot be categorized as touch, smell, taste, or sight. It floats from one soul to the next, but only with permission. The trust, the devotion, and the letting down of your guard; are all side effects of this item, this emotion, this feeling, this way of life. We beings are blessed to inflict this feeling upon others, and they unto us. All the while we are cursed; so many a man, woman, child, have been destroyed by jealousy for another’s claim upon the vessel stored in some other’s breast. Have mercy upon our souls the dancing demon who scorches our hearts with glee. Spare the broken and battered, and restore what is lost. This love kindles our hearts and burns with an everglowing rage; too hot a love leads to ashes, lest the vessel turn into an urn. A flying imp of a delvilish sort evidently witholds this beloved emotion amongst arrows who never miss a mark. He strings his bow with the strenth of two passionate lovers intertwined in the night, the bow constructed with the courage of warriors lost to lust. With tears of delight the little nyph releases an onslaught on an unsuspecting humanity. Stricken down with thoughts of flowers, birds, bees, and laughing children, we humans seek out the other infected inhabitants of this Earth. This hex we bear ever willingly or so we think. This little spiteful sprite sits watching at the damage he has done. He comes but once a year to encourage a capitalistic society (Santa, the Easter Bunny,and the Tooth Fairy all play poker). “Paint my face on sweets, cards, and anything you can” he says and we ignorant as ever obey this little creature. What is this thing called love? Is it an emotion or a virus that thrives in humanity? It multiplies when shown infecting everything in its sight. Soon we are all helping old ladies across streets, holding doors for others, buying flowers for our significant ones, and resisting our maniacle urges. During my rage a bird flys overhead and screeches “nevermore”, as it flys off into the distance I wail “evermore” the foul beast denies my thoughts and challenges my reasoning, beligerantly insulting my thoughts of love. What say any other to the “touchy” subject of love? Tis love that lasts evermore, the animal doesn’t understand. Perhaps his burning love has been snuffed out, and he is forced to roam the Earth challenging lovers in jealousy. The sorrow I feel for the bird I long to appologize, for he is deprived of the exstacy that is love. But a shadow of the once magnificent creature he must have been. A crow now but perhaps a raven then. To make or break the soul is the job of this thing we call “love”. It is a cancer I believe, it sinks its tentacles deep into the fibers of our being twisting us and mutating us into a puppet who obeys its every whim. We challenge it with hate. An uprising, a chance against this faceless silent evil. Foolish as we are we see our hate is the mirror image of love. It wasn’t love we were influence by. We were so overwhelmed by love we fell beneath the giant weight that it is. No longer facing its virtues and the wonder that it is but the underside of love. Without hate love means nothing and without love hate means nothing. They are but different sides of the same coin. We give ourselves the thrill of throwing the coin just for the chance at love. Salvation and damnation, heaven and hell, flowers and swords they are but twins just looked upon in different lights. This never ending battle of love and hate wont soon cease, we keep watch on our own inner demons waiting for the chance to turn us to the other side, ever so wrenching ourselves from our souls trying to escape these tasks we are dealt. Life is merely a game of cards, it only matters what hand you are dealt.
What is IT?
May 7, 2009