Love

A poem of how intriguing it is to be in love.

Love.

Such a big word to only contain four little letters.

That one little word holds such power.

Power that drives grown men to lay down and cry.

Power that drives honest women to go out and kill.

And then you have another four letter word - hate.

Which is usually what love ends in.

But, then you see an elderly couple helping each other around.

Will you and your significant other see them years together?

The "Golden Years" as they are called.

Hell, when you last fell in love them, too, you thought were the golden years.

You and your lover staring at the stars, all night.

Knowing, believing this must be love.

But, yet, I ask:  Does anyone truly know or have ever known true love?

Has anyone truly felt real love?

Or been in love; truly, deeply, madly in love?

Now, I ask you:  Do you know who decides when you fall in love?

Or, do you have this control over others?

When watching those in love it does seem only cupid himself could control them.

Then, there are those true star-crossed lovers that seem led astray.

But, we all know better.

Far from led astray.

They are, but, led together.