A Paradox once asks to me,
what might love seek out to be,
were he a sensation of inescapable ecstasy erupting in radical hearts,
were he a person where eyes seem to halt and sorrows seem to part ?
the Paradox spewing it's taste, glares at me and,
asks to me,
"Then what shall I make love to be ? "...
.
I swallowed a breath and called to him,
Let love be what the romantics dream,
It shan't be just a sensation that is wooed like a curtain caught in a breeze,
It shan't be a person as even in death it's serenity does not freeze,
Then I hear a ring rhetor in your scheme, chanting,
"Then what could love deem itself to be ? "...
.
Let this Paradox halt it's mystery,
Eternity dies of shame to answer this query,
Let Love be what the bards make it seem,
What might love seek to be,
Shall be clear if you let love be...