For love it is a wretched word,
It does not sit well in my mouth.
Opposed to me in twos and thirds,
Consumes my brain in doubt.
For it keeps lingering ominously,
I do feel it in my skull,
Stuck, jarring sounds, cacophony,
My mind remaining dull.
And harsh it is to feel the sting,
A wasp crawled up my arm,
What ebbing state, vile thing,
Light up my thoughts in alarm.
But you are seen more in light,
Than darkness is to say.
I clench my fists in noble fight,
But you will not go away.
