Sometimes to write of love,
tender feelings,
longing and desire.

But is that love?
Sometimes sweet
but often bitter.

Or is it passion,
a battle fought,
a war of attrition?

Love? Is it surrender
or victory complete
or mutual annihilation?

Does love possess the soul
or auction the heart?
Is there fair exchange?

It is torment and exhilaration,
being one,
becoming fractured.

The pieces of the puzzle,
none that fit
but all in place.

Sometimes to write of love,
to dance under the stars
and sing a melody sharp.

Of eyes into the soul
that clouds the heart,
that blinds the faith.

To taste the sweet nectar,
regurgitate its rancid fruit
and plant the seed of life.

Bring forth useless words
or priceless gems,
jewels of eternity.

Camouflaged in inequity,
glorified in lights,
wretched in plain sight.

Shackled in memories
launched in dreams
mired in time.

Of words spoken true,
sins cast away,
bondage that is freedom.

Sometimes to write of love,
to possess the anger,
liberate the heart.