Love.

Love,
What a strange thing.


Like snow in August,
Seems to be impossible.

Yet many people
Sucumb to its sensual ways.

Falling often for beauty,
Instead of wits.

It’s almost like an assassin enters you,
Playing your heart like a violin,
Pulling on each string gracefully.

But eventually his arms become tired,
And fall,
Ripping down the strings of love painfully.

Leaving you defenseless,
For when he regains his strength,
He will attack.

Slicing every emotion in his way.
Making tears emerge at the mere thought of your lovers name.
Then you might even get mad at the thought of him with another person,
Or perhaps thats jealousy.

What is this strange sorcery?
A wizard called love,
Casting absurd spells that usually end in misery.

But when they finally leave,
A feeling known as hatred emerges.
Burning through you,
Filling you with nothing but insanity.

But the happiness you once knew,
May just return to you.

That bubbly happy feeling,
May overcome you once more.


But you may still be soar,
Possibly even higher then before.

You must find happiness,
Even in the dark.