Love most have died centuries ago
She died with Juliet and Romeo
Now her bones lay dust infested
Romeo's to the left
Juliet's to the right.
Wishing they discussed,
Try to figure out how it all turned sour.

If love is dead,
Who or what are we then?
Excavators, that's who we are
Digging furiously, who cares how far
The grave of the duo love birds must be near
Find it, find love at its undiluted sphere.

Enveloped in this fantasies box
Love becomes no more than a hoax
Love is what it is
A beautiful broken bike if you please
Its too dangerous to ride
Yet no choice but the ride
So if you must, put on your safety gear.

Love does not live inside TVs
Nor magazines
She has left the internet and movies
She now lives in the simplicity of you and I.

You may have looked too hard
Yet you still can't find.
This you must figure out
You are looking in the wrong sites.