Logic,
That tired practice
That keeps busy bodies satisfied
Until they find love.

Love,
The only illogical action
That anyone has been sure of
That has made a mockery of reason.

Reason,
A cause for change
There is no reason
The Sun doesn’t ask the Earth
For a repayment
For the life it gives
Such a lack of reason,
Such a gift.

To give,
That which is a pure act
Of provision
Senseless and costly
But what light
What life is begotten
By such a pure act
Of honesty.

Honesty,
That which is raw,
It is only honesty
That is exempt from values
A history that is the only constant.

Consistency,
The only thing you can predict
When **** hits the fan
What will withstand
Who will out boast the highest bidder,
What a patient power.

Power,
The only thing which can be truly stolen
Yet you will always have it
The beat in our chest
May be silenced
But the formation of mountains
Will still shake your sepulcher.
True power
Deals in patience.

Patience,
A knowledge of
And trust in
What is larger than this
The entropic force
That will make relevant
What is essential.

Essentially,
This is a love poem
Whom it is for
Only time will tell.