Perhaps love is as elusive as monetary wealth is to the masses.  
Perhaps love is no more a reality than the endless days we have spent melding our minds to a piece of virtual property that trades us our health for a few moments of excitement and a few hours absent of boredom.

My friend, love eludes me more and more with each setting of the sun.
I am not so sure that I believe it even exists any longer.
Perhaps love eludes me because I chase a fictional object.  
Perhaps I am living analogous to the ***** addict.  
One pursues the dragon; the other pursues romance.  
I seek a woman who I connect with on such a level that I am unable to articulate the degree to which I love her.  
Yet, she knows in her heart of hearts where I stand and she stands there with me.

Society dictates that our masculinity is dependent on abstaining from thoughts and words that might be construed to lack a rugged demeanor.  
Yet I say to you, every man thinks of what I write of today.  
The vast majority of them are too restrained by society’s trivial notion of a man to even engage their own minds in the thought of the subject.  
They act as if the rest of the world can hear their thoughts and relay what they have heard to others.

The world is a jury, a harsher judge than the most heartless, spectators in a gladiatorial match, watching one's every move, criticizing one's every flinch.  
Yet, they can only maintain a level of hypocrisy for so long before the bounds of their walls cave upon them.

There are those who would state that they are content with the presence of a physical relationship and the absence of an emotional connection.  
They are but fools.  
They are pursuers of immediate gratification and will be recipients of nothing more.  
Their lives will be shadowed by the emptiness that they caused unto so many others and their equation in life will not result in equity.

The love I speak of friend is an emotion that is triggered merely by the most subtle of references to the beloved.  
It is a flooding of the capillaries,  a fluttering of the heart, a sweating of the brow, an inward heave of the stomach, and the settling of an utter bliss.  
These are the physical symptoms of the emotion and the emotion is a cranial symptom of the connection.  Love, my friend, I do believe is a balance of two individuals that is caused by a pairing that can only be so perfectly designed by one who is omnipotent.

So far I must admit to you that I have not felt paired with an individual.  
There were physical connections with many, and emotional connections with few.  
Yet, even in the most intense emotional connection there was something lacking.  
There was a piece of the puzzle missing.  
When her and my eyes met, there was not a parallel connection.  

True love, my friend, is but a connection that shall be made but once.  I have not made that connection yet and perhaps it would be inappropriate for me to theorize further.  
Yet, it is those who dared to theorize that have revolutionized this planet ten fold because their thoughts became an idea.
The idea became a design.
The design grew to be tangible.
The tangible became a reality.

Therefore, my friend, I theorize that I will one day find this obscure love that so many on this Earth do not have in their possession.  
And when I find this obscure connection, my friend, I shall speak of it more.  
I shall articulate it to the best of my ability so that others may know better what they pursue and may find it in due time.

**** that ****. This is poetry now. Can you say it isn’t real? Can you say my lowbrow barbaric mind doesn’t express itself? Can you tell me these words aren’t art? **** that. This outcry is whats comin next.

Them burnt cars and bullet scars,
***** boots and tittie bars,
forget to bathe, **** the shave,
my pillow case is made of pave-ment,
twenty years late on that first pay-ment.
I asked the question but got delay-ment,
on what the **** has this all meant?

My colours just distract, them smiles just an act-
you think I’m tokin and ******* and happy go-lucking,
***** im drowning in the bills I haven’t even seen yet,
throwin off the debts as the horse that rolls the best bet,
and don’t forget,
every second you lay down to lie them eyes and theorize,
youre just getten burglarized,
want a burger and fries?
Twenty years off your life- oh and the change too.
Twenty seven ninety-five,
thirteen plus the years I’ll spend,
locked up with nothing to tend,
no garden, no fruit, no love to loot,
no wide eyes to fill and no breeze to shoot,
just a chain gain filling my ***** with soot,
stabbing by the next poor guy,
jabbing by that suit and tie,
the key is not to fit it right- so that every turn reminds who you belong to.
And this is what I wanna do?
Hold up- I pay for that ****?

Now I understand suicide you nihilistic gits,
taking hits while the rest picks up the bits and the red runs the slits but no one sees the slip.
Topsy turvy sliding down the grassy knoll,
the heads tumble but the dough will never roll.
No.
Its busy ******* me in, me and my ilk,
like me too much an *** to be thankful for robes of silk,
mommy’s milk, eleventh hours and the stockpiles of the dowry.
Soft as a baby,
never ****** on the sour but the sweet,
pink feet,
earned on thin green sheet and the red as the man is beat, beaten and burned,
turned spurned despite his age and whats learned.
What is learned?
If only I could tell you.
We’s on the same track , don’t ask me whats gon spell true.