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Quoting: Originally posted by DynaThom
Love is such a fragile thing. It always is;
it never was. It's self-assured, misunderstood.
It wants to be an anchor but resents the chain.
It takes liberties while vowing to stay true.
It exaggerates while feigning chaste demureness.
It drives when it should walk, leaps when
it should crawl, and flies without a single lesson.
It pretends when isn't, doesn't know when is.
It pleasures me, ignores another.
It insults me and curtsies to one just behind.
Love is real while being false. It waltzes by,
never turns while turning, turning on itself.
It is alive and dead, revived, and lives again.
It is granted to those who wait. Perhaps.
It is wishes, dreams, sometimes even actuality.
It is a supernova streaking while being only
superficial. Officially it's meant to bind. But
will not do so without help. It can save you,
enslave you . . . but never from yourself. Love,
the beginning of the end, the end as a beginning.
Written by, . . . You know.
:^)
DT
Love is such a fragile thing. It always is;
it never was. It's self-assured, misunderstood.
It wants to be an anchor but resents the chain.
It takes liberties while vowing to stay true.
It exaggerates while feigning chaste demureness.
It drives when it should walk, leaps when
it should crawl, and flies without a single lesson.
It pretends when isn't, doesn't know when is.
It pleasures me, ignores another.
It insults me and curtsies to one just behind.
Love is real while being false. It waltzes by,
never turns while turning, turning on itself.
It is alive and dead, revived, and lives again.
It is granted to those who wait. Perhaps.
It is wishes, dreams, sometimes even actuality.
It is a supernova streaking while being only
superficial. Officially it's meant to bind. But
will not do so without help. It can save you,
enslave you . . . but never from yourself. Love,
the beginning of the end, the end as a beginning.
Written by, . . . You know.
:^)
DT
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