What is this mystery
we desire & call
love?
We all seek it
knowing or not
if it's in our
hearts.
We're driven to ask
whether it exists
at all, giving us
the perspective to see
that nothing exists
without it.
You don't read this poem
without love's
****** embrace.
Its creative power
pours the essence
of being.
The affinity
chemicals express
for each other
is catalogued
& categorized
into processes
& methods, evidence
of a mind crying
for absolute understanding.
We love truth
not for its beauty
but for its simplicity,
which carries beauty
in its form.
Yet the simple truths
sting the most,
like fear's glance
or the reaper's lance.
Let's follow the simple
truth that love is
all there is (for
The Beatles weren't lying)
& there's no reason why
love & death aren't
one & the same.
Perhaps life is
an expression of love
for the finer things
& death is our love
for the endless.
One moment we grow
tired of nothing,
swayed by love's
desire to be known,
born into another
universal fling.