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Love,
what are you, really?
An inkling?
A vibe?
A stirring inside
my being
when my loins
and my third eye
find themselves agreeing
with my heart
instead of seeking
their own interest?
I must confess:
You perplex me,
even vex me at times.
Often stressed me
over the years,
yet I’ve embraced you
every time that you appeared
along my journey.
Although you’ve burned me
more than I care to remember,
I’m that sucker for you
who always surrenders
to you whims.
You’ve coerce me with their skins.
Under duress, I’ve given in
Time, and time, and time,
and time again.
Cleaving to the hope that I might win
at your game.
You sick sadist!
Inflicting pain
every time I sought the comfort of your
pleasure in girls’ treasures!
I guess that makes me a masochist,
enjoying your perversions.
I turned my back on lust for you
when lust never left me hurting.
Lust doesn’t have your pathologies.
When lust leaves, it never bothers me.
Lust has never promised me
happily-ever-afters,
then reneged haughtily with, “Psych!” –
mocking me with laughter.
Still, I always leave
the porch light on at night
and the door ajar –
an open invitation to my heart.
I’m like a Christian still believing
without proof that you exist.
In everything outside religion and love
only the fools do this.
So love, what are you, really?
A gift?
A curse?
A truth?
A lie?
I say you’re all of the above
When felt, you are proof I am ALIVE.
-HymnAgen
