What is Love?

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

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