The Love Conflict

To allow the sand, which coarsens thy feet, to remain between gentle toes is but the sweetest of love,

For love has power to burden the soul, harden the heart, impair a man, and deflower a woman,

Yet we continue to love with a seriously, meaningful, sickening passion.

 

Must we hesitate to learn?

Learn to treat love as a spiteful game in which winners lose and losers become idols?

But this type of thought is for those strictly of the mind, not of the heart.

This type of thought inevitably cascades the sensitive soul to tears.

 

I know this all too well, for I am not one of the mind, but one of the heart,

And my heart unfailingly melts at the thought of an erotic touch.

Melts into a weak puddle of regretful vulnerability.

 

Why must I continue with this cruel game?

Is it merely a sad instinctive quality?

That I simply crave ones sincerity brought about by a gentle touch?

A gentle touch.

No aspect of love has ever had the tendency to remain gentle.

 

The roads of love have proven to be curvy, rocky, soiled by nature’s design.

The skies of love hold clouds filled with thunder, lightning, tears.

The waters of love thrash upon the rocks, their waves consumed by jealous sharks,

The unsteady, uncertain waters of love shall never allow the sand, resting among the steady shore, to remain.