She looks in the mirror
At the age on her face
"I wonder what he thinks
of me this way?"

She considers her weight
and the pores on her skin
She thinks out loud
"I don't deserve him."

She picks apart
the woman he loves
Separating her worth
from all that she does
              
He looks in her eyes
and caresses her face
He sees it glowing with love
and full of grace

 The lines on her face
  he views with pride
  Recounting the victories
  each time they've been tried

The weight that she carries
 is that of a mom
 Nothing's too heavy
 She just marches on

These bodies will perish
 and mirrors offer no truth
True love abides
 beyond the corridors of youth

  No, she doesn't deserve me
  Perhaps God can see
  Conceivably, one day
  I'll be as worthy as she

(Heart beats)

What does it all mean actually? Love.
The thing that we all chase, feel, abuse, anticipate and yearn for.
No money can buy its power. No fortune teller can predict when it may happen. We seem to be in denial about it. Some of us have it and forget about it, like an old pair of shoes that we were once excited about but now just look at as something that once gave us this amazing feeling...only to fade and be thrown away. Why do we just forget and throw it away? Why does that excitement fade? Where does it go? Is it instilled in us as people to naturally get rid of what once made us feel good? Maybe it's the distraction of others? or the tarnish over time?
I have no idea. I try not to ask. I've been fooled by my heart so many times that I have no idea what my mind even thinks when encountered by the fury of love, the captive eye of its emotions. "We were young" "No good thing last forever" "I don't know what happened?" The excuses. They never match up like the wrong pieces we try to force into the puzzle. Why do we try to make it fit? Why is love so complicated? And why is it so abused? "I love you"... "do you?" We say in our head...self consciously...because trust is an issue. But we instead say "I love you, too" to help break our fall. Falling helplessly hoping to grab something to stop us from breaking, shattering like a piece of glass and love was the hand that couldn't handle us...so they let it go to break. "I'm sorry"...are you? Because you once said "I love you" are you just saying things to help yourself of your dazed condition? Are you just a malicious heart seeker? Do you still "love" me? Or was this all a dream? That's what love is right? A dream... A moment, a thought, a figment of ones imagination, sleeping for hope, only to wake up and realize it was never real. I pray the idea of love changes like all does over time. I hope it becomes more of an art form and not a skill. There is a difference. The art form is created off a skill but the art form isn't something you practice...it's something you internally create and lasts a lifetime. Others see the art form and get inspired to want, do the same...or so we hope.
Love isn't extinct...it's not fading...it's not to be forgotten. It's just stopped being created. It's not being treated right...it's being abused and forced to do what it wasn't placed here to. So I ask again. "What does love mean?" "Why is it still being abused?" Will its art form be remembered...if it dies?

What is love...
(Beeps start to slow down)
why'd you take it from me...
(Beeps slow down)
What is...
(Flatlined)
*What
          Is
               Love?

There was a cake
But no one ate it
Then there was no cake
And still no one had eaten it
But everyone remembered it
It didn't look that nice
It looked like it needed more chocolate
It looked like it needed less sugar
It tasted like...
Who said that?
No one answered
They looked at each other
with dark chocolately glances
No one ate the cake
It just vanished.
But not without comment.

"Should one of us remember,
  And one of us forget,
I wish I knew what each will do--
  But who can tell as yet?"

"Should one of us remember,
  And one of us forget,
I promise you what I will do--
And I'm content to wait for you,
  And not be sure as yet."

"And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest."


The earth was green, the sky was blue:
  I saw and heard one sunny morn
A skylark hang between the two,
  A singing speck above the corn;

A stage below, in gay accord,
  White butterflies danced on the wing,
And still the singing skylark soared
  And silent sank, and soared to sing.

The cornfield stretched a tender green
  To right and left beside my walks;
I knew he had a nest unseen
  Somewhere among the million stalks:

And as I paused to hear his song
  While swift the sunny moments slid,
Perhaps his mate sat listening long,
  And listened longer than I did.