Love:

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Love.
Is that word really so strange?
Is it really the cause of all your pain?
Is that what's driving you insane?
Or is it its meaning,
That has your boat careening,
That has you tipping and leaning,
Over that ledge,
Preparing you to take that pledge?
Or, could it be its implements,
That leave such a dent
In your scent,
Even if that's not what you thought you wanted or meant?
Could such a word, with its implements and meaning
Be so redeeming
In its flawed perfection?
So generous with its rejection,
And so eager to show everyone the reflection
Of its unnecessary dejection?
Or is the experience much simpler than we make it out to be?
Is it just too hard for the human mind to see,
That though love is cruel and love is kind,
Love is also blind,
Ninety nine percent of the time.
And that we see what we want to see, when we want to see it
And what we see is probably exactly what we're gonna get.
So, when that four-letter word comes knocking at your door,
If you decide to open it and take what's in store,
Just remember that its effects and consequences will be with you forevermore.





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