The world paints an impossible portrait of love;
You are to reach into their life, convince them that
their heart is yours, show them your strength by holding it
aloft, treating it gently, but here we are made
of only flesh and blood, which may as well be mud,
And this we cannot maintain, the sweat and blood flow
And erosion of our minds eats away our strength,
The strain makes us squeeze, and the tears that roll down our face
are poison to that heart aloft, so heavy borne
And before we know it, we are floating, adrift,
Arm half-cocked trying to predict the tide, floating
In filth, a poison we’ve made, lies and hope and fear,
Sitting on a powder keg, match lit and flicking
We know, if we let go the pieces fall too far,
And the toxic pool will claim this precious thing, that
We always knew was ill deserved in the first place,
And our own poisoned fallen heart remembers well,
Someone once held it aloft and failed to protect,
But our strength wavers before we know what to do,
So darkness and retreat are the only safeties,
From this shameful wrath at fuses end and tides call.
But all is not lost, perhaps there is something more,
A way to dispel this fear and greed with courage,
With an honest answer to this truth confusing,
With love we can hold our own hearts to the heavens
Whenever we trust there is another out there,
Others with mud stacked high, scented with fading lies,
Still willing to put something deep inside them first,
And share it aloud, if only with just the one.