A trap to some, annoying tangle to others.
Making kin without relation, bloodbrothers.
And thought it is something I hate,
A few see them as strings to manipulate

I've heard Love called the Blessed Curse
And much truth to that, for better and worse.
Love can be a joy and balm, a healing rain.
Can also be the source of greatest pain.

Hate can drive us to train and grow
to a strength we otherwise would not have known.
And to some, it is an easy harbour
when washed far from Love's shore.

Love, greed, lust, envy, all
can consume you, leave an empty shell,
trapped within self-built walls.
A truly self-imposed hell.
Weakening and killing at length.
Or with iron-will tempering the fires
can guide one's action to strength
that grants all desires.

But there is another plane of reality
Created by intense mutual affinity.
Between lovers or enemies a sharing of feeling
so sincere and true, is created a world of meaning.

While perhaps not quite divine,
definately above mortal mind.
A mere word, a simple gesture,
a change of expression or posture,
conveys volumes of meaning to these intimates.
A new form of communication it begets.
And even the most perceptive of eyes,
cannot know all that therein lies.

For underlying each word is a two-way flow
of feeling that only the intimate know.
And in this flow is the true meaning,
leaving no room for misunderstanding.



Penned by my hand on the 20th of Tenebrae, in the year 530 AD.