Children know not,
what love is,
yet.

Just as their parents,
did not,
when they were small.

It is something passed along,
generation to generation,
to use, exceedingly,
when old.


Such a foreign concept,
when not taught.
And yet, when learned,
it is a power.

A force that can overthrow,
ignorance.

Love is impressionable.
Love is always justified.
And love, can
sometimes be malicious.

It is passion. It is security. It is an honest belief.

What is love?

It is a wall between two cities,
the rocking chair in the corner of the room,
and the recipe book shelved.

It is the wine glasses,
the lover’s warm breath on your neck,
and a locked bedroom door.

It is a book,
the men following footsteps,
and the flash before detonation.

It is strained vocal chords,
the incessant ringing of a phone,
and frown lines etched in a face.

It is the sirens announcing defeat,
the tears that become screams,
and doors being kicked from their frames.

But, one thing love is not,
love is not a heart.

Love can never be a heart.

Love is a key.
Love is changed locks.
Love is a blown bulb.
Love is the smell of rain.
Love is a river overflowing.
Love is a torrential downpour.
Love is the ups and downs.
The good and the bad.
The old and the new.

But one thing love can never be…

It can never be a heart.