It is rotten luck to have known of love; Where once we were eternally happy, sad but a second in youth. This love thing they speak of takes a hold of us And we are forever at its beck and call; The sorrow of learning the truth.
Once we ran all day and played in the sun; Swam in seas alongside beaches, smiling and getting a tan. Where once we ran after a ball, when we were still young; Our childhood dissolved And we were forced to become a woman or a man.
Before our hearts were captured and sure enough, broken; We were free of lust and love and worries about a rapport. We were solely focused on our own amusement; such joy! Since stolen, By love and its minions, its poetic verses and it lack of forborne.
Through shallow waters we search, forever lost in the mud; Our hands dart beneath the surface, blinded by beauty. We ***** at a lover we should never aspire to love; We only find through trial and error, our true equality.
And even when we have found love, truly, madly, deeply; We are forever doubtful, not intentionally forgetful; Love becomes our ruination. We are crazy in love; we seep into each otherβs lives so skillfully, That we are unaware that this disease we drink is called a love potion.
Loverβs morph into something else, If there is falsehood beneath the waves. They are eaten from inside and become bitter and twisted. Such joy in the beginning; Our fondness soon becomes our grave. This love thing, disguised as beauty; Just leaves us, To become listless.