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Array
(
[sid] => 151264
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => What is Love?
[time] => 2009-07-03 12:14:19
[hometext] => This is a poem wrote recently. While sitting behind the maintinance tent on a FOB in Afghanistan. I pulled my pen wrote this on moments inspiraton. Two birds courting.
[bodytext] => Is love merely a word used to describe beauty in all things? Is love a tempest surf, sails unfurled to its chaos of fire and nail? That might alter its face and lay soot to its sheen Tis love a feeling? An emotion? Is love nothing more than biology and Chemistry? With laws and formulie Where math and charts, not fate decide? Is love even a thing? Is it one thing or many things Are love and life bound by the number 42 Or is it seamless with no true path nor pattern Is this love with no end the disease that drives men mad in the end If love is truth and truth be love can you ever truly end ones love for another? If so was it ever truly love or twas it a lie and what than of love from one side? One who truly loves another the loved feeling not the tremor in the heart of the lover. Is it true I ask. One man for one woman? In all the beaten expanse can there truly be but one love for one other. Is love a physical act or attraction or a mutual understanding of heart and mind? And what is it to make love? If make means to create and love describes the sexual act. than is this love not lust Is love a rare rose? blooming but once in a lifetime what if one knows that love is red and not of the rose? So eager, he plucks all blossoms of red til the meadow is of a green and blue hue. Broken he is blinded By this blue and gloomy world And in his wake of sorrow, want and anger might he trample the red rose? Never knowing of its eloquent beauty Than still there are many who are quite aware of the rose of red Yet they fear the thorn, which all bare Still than some will cling to the rose as the thorns bleed them dry. Is love for those who know it best. What than of the poet with the pen No ring on his hand. bearing no true faith nor alliance destined is he, for the world of blue? Wither will he, on thorns of lust and lie? If searching is he And knowing he is of the red bloom rose If in his heart the secrets of love are etched with golden pen? Will he not be blessed with the perfect woman in the end? We poets, we philosophers, we young and curious many we engrave our take on life on the world around us Upon sheets of rock and scroll of flesh Yet not one of us will ever speak any different than to say What is Love? [comments] => 2 [counter] => 197 [topic] => 2 [informant] => silhouex [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => LovePoetry )
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