We have no choice or influence,
O’er where our love will come to rest,
In what sacred chalice,
O’er what vessel it will possess.

Love will go to where it chooses,
Without rhyme or reason,
Leaving us to follow,
Lest we lose that which is most precious,
Our heart.

We chase after that vessel,
Which holds our heart, our love, our life,
Grasping, vainly searching,
And very rarely are we able to reach out,
And clasp that cup of love to our breast.

But if we do manage to grab that chalice,
Into which we have poured our hopes,
Our dreams,
Our love,
Ecstatic pleasure we may possess,
So long as it is in our grasp.

Those days and hours,
Are the best we’ve ever known,
Loving hearts connected,
Ours and ours alone.

But far too often,
The chalice breaks away,
The one we love,
Drifts away taking with it,
Heart and soul.

It leaves behind an emptiness,
A hollowed heart a heartless soul,
Mourning in the dark.

Something’s missing,
We know its missing,
But no substitute is found
For love gone aground.