Love?**
A word any more loaded would surely have its vessel of destruction  firmly planted against the vulnerable flesh of my soul.
A tool only to be managed by the most skilled of marksmen.  
Naturally every man feels a sense of entitlement when it comes to venturing into the grand shadow that love casts.  
The sad reality being few ever make it out of the dark.  
Somewhere beyond the gloom of our contemporary road less traveled by is the Utopian bliss of beauty and contempt.
Perfection?
No.
Never perfection, but the closest our society will ever achieve.
Beauty...
Real beauty...
Is the ability to love imperfections, and embrace them as truth.
Honesty is the true happiness.
to be honest with one's self is to be true to his fellow man.
We are as we are for reasons beyond our control, yet destiny can be persuaded by selfless acts of love and truth.
Give me your tired, your weak, and your poor, and I will show you your casualties of war.
Not a war fought on any foreign front, but an internal struggle of love for another which will always strike swiftly and blunt.