Had we a heart for the love we had shared
God could have been kind and just left us a pair
But maybe our senses got into the way;
It had to be darkness that shadowed our days.
What truly is love but a sense of its own,
With no ***** to claim but a skill to be honed?
Is it thought, is it heat that will soon dissipate?
Is it a function of time, is it tangent to hate?
As I sit, does it stand, am I strictly opposed
To this thing I call love that I’ve now juxtaposed
To a satanic vice, to the absence of God?
Am I now nothing more than a pitiless fraud,
Who claims to be worldly and knows so much more
Than the man on the street and the ungodly *****,
Who see life in its rawness and laugh at the child,
Who lives in a bubble and makes fierce what is mild?
What the babe doesn’t know is that he never can,
For to live is to know, and to love: to be Man.
So he who’s not lived may learn suddenly
The fury of flesh and what love should be.