Love does not hold the heart as love alone.
Without the dreaded guest known as hate,
Love is much less than a host.
More of a tattered ideal
That spawns in our minds
And trickles and pours into the soul
Much like the needed, yet unwanted hatred
That rises up, filling the air like a toxic fume.
Fogging the windows before our eyes,
Love brands us a fool.
Who am I to follow my heart
When my mind is all the wiser?
It seems that neither can speak the truth,
Leaving me not a helpful thought,
But the sinking weight of fate.
As new life blooms inside my heart,
My mind is left with a morsel of peace,
Only to be sent to ruins.
Mortal figures are no match
For the wandering ways of love.
Alas, the soul delves through a maze of passion
With infinite heights and degrees
And readies itself for what is to come.
Released from the labyrinth unscathed.