This axe was made from
Oak and
Anger.
Forged in the fires that
Shaped my cardiac
Armour.

I'll never surrender to a
Woman
Who sees love as war
Ever again.
It's been a long,
Lonely time.

But I've seen peace.
Still sacrifice to the gods,
Praying for brief, cold
Winters; for all other
Seasons to be neither.
They all have room for a

Woman between them,
But my hatred for ego
Is a burning beacon of warning
Even I myself shun.
I just want the silence.
That deep, deep silence,

Whose last word will never be:  
"Me,"
But:
"... ... ..."
That, I can love.

This axe was made from
Oak and
Anger.
It beats paper; scissors; stone.
Sees me armed. And still
Alone.

Love is such a weird thing.
It makes you cry, laugh, scream, hate.
Love controls all.
To love is to control your emotions, your family, your life.

Love and hate are very similar in some ways.
The emotions caused by both are thrown around
causing so much trouble in a lot of people's lives.
To love is to want and need.

Pain is also like love.
It's what comes with it.
A big package that nobody signs up for willingly.
To love is to have a ticking time bomb in your pocket.

To have pain
is to have hate
is to be in love.

How could such a small word
have such a big meaning?

So, what is love?
Is it pain?
Hate?
Or is it something most of us have not experienced yet?
Making us quick to judge those who have.