Of Love

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When they speak, they spout the wonders,

They speak of the magnificence, prattle on about how wonderful it is.

A deadly flame, but whose licks to your flesh rival none

In the morose delight it gives.

I have seen the face of love and survived

I am yet to see these blazes they speak of.

I do not see the beauty, nor the inexpressible joy,

Not even the roses and the sunny days.

The face that I saw,

The face of what you call love,

Is my own face, dulled in passivity,

Staring back at me.

Fickle face with its fickle intentions.

The lure at first was tempting, I agree,

But when I peeled back the layers,

All I could see was the true face.

But look at me now,

I am the broken shards that lay in your path,

But though it tempts me to say I will stay broken,

It is not so.

I have fallen,

But I have the power in me to rise.

One push will not keep me down,

Nor will it weaken my resolve.

I say to love, I am not your slave,

I am mine.

And though my nightmares are yet to be bereft

Of the face I give to the name of love,

I will not be bereft of my freedom.

For it is by falling that you learn to walk,

And I am now prepared to fall again.

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