The Game of Love

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Love is the game for the hearts of the weak
Tis a weed, not a flower, not a beautiful rose
Only lest the rose wither then join in the play
Lest it forget all its beauty and all that it knows
Love is not fire, but ash and rubble
Tis a trick of the mind, scattered and lost
Let not wisdom enter that dance and those games
For love may only prosper at wisdom’s cost
Love is, instead, the Eye of a storm
And will that Eye open to see its own harm!
The dismal gloom of those once infatuated with love
Audaciously revisits with new insatiable charm





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