Love is an old word, a blown out of proportion cumbersome old word
What keeps its endurance...Maybe it is exercising it, playing and bouncing it around a bit?
I am old, the word is old – it is work, yes, it is as old as me and it is work. Yet love is a new word, a young word, I am beyond young; I cannot seem to clean up this mess of a word, is it for the young or is it for the old?
Love strokes the ego, the breast, the mind and the senses to nest
Love alters passageways, trails, and pathways
Love seeks to care, to share, to spare
Love frames a picture, masks a painting, takes out memory
A shelter in a storm, a soothing salve, and a cooling cloth covering hurt. Love puts out the fires, makes believe, holds your hand and quenches desires
You do what has to be done, there is no fun, love blinds, coerciveness shames and bludgeons dreams, can love bloom again, can it grow stronger, everlasting, beautiful as only love can swell the earth, swelling the heart, and endures and lasts
Love is everywhere, love unfurls its masts, it cheats the best, takes the heart into full arrest, control is gone, a free spirit arises into the far and beyond, the conscience labors float away on clouds of grey, and where blue bird flies through the rain and sings, and buds of love show off into a new spring