I asked a man one day of what he thought of love
he looked at me with tired eyes
and said with the air of man gone through war
love is simply love
and then he walked away
with his hands behind his back
and I could see a small burn mark
in the shape of a tiny heart

I asked another what love was
and he looked at me with haughty eyes
and he said in a loud, superior tone
love is for a man and woman
and then he walked away
with his arms crossed in front
and I could see his knuckles split
from the punches that he threw

I saw the men one time again
the latter with a blackened eye
he said to me that he was hate
and love had shoved him down
I saw the former with his head held high;
a twinkle in his eye
he held the hand of another man
who had a burn mark on his palm
he said his scar was there by love
and that it had lightened hate.