Love?

Love.

Love is what we see,

When we pass by shop fronts,

Stroll by restaurant and cafe windows

In the streets.

It is what we feel

Before any touch;

Long before

Any words are spoken.

It is the birth of an idea,

The flourish of light

Within a cloud-filled sky,

And the flash of a camera,

Capturing all that is good,

But not something seen.

Love;

The oil rainbow on a puddle,

So perfect and pristine.

So long as it is left alone.

Love hangs

Like a black cloud,

Threatening to rain at any time.

Love gives people wrong ideas,

And bad impressions.

Love kills more men

Than hate ever could;

It takes judgement and morals,

Crumples it up with what you once cared for,

And throws the whole lot out of the window;

And still

People are looking so hard for it,

They miss it almost every time.

Love is here,

It is always just a moment,

And never a lifetime.

Love is that smile,

Exchanged with a beautiful stranger

As you pass them by,

Probably never to pass again.

Love is the wind and the rain,

When you reach saturation

And stop caring;

When you look to the heavens,

Stare the storm straight in the eye,

And laugh.

Love is in that moment,

When you look out at the world

And all its grandeur,

When you see yourself

As nothing more than another

Worthless animal,

Love is when you see this,

Love is when you feel this is right.

Or maybe I am wrong?

Maybe I face the wrong way,

Is love not this?

Or is love in the unity of a man and a woman,

Those that live within each other;

That compromise,

And work out something they can both enjoy;

Something not quite what either would love to do.

Maybe this is love,

Maybe putting yourself within someone

For long enough to reach, at least a little, dependency

Is what love really is.

Either way love is something to live,

To live in fear of,

To view from a distance,

And to enjoy at your own risk.