When it comes to love,
The heart is king,
Ruling much like a tyrant,
All that matter is its will,
And no one else can win
When it comes to love,
The mind is ill at ease,
As logic is cleaved of,
And reason is sent packing,
So it has no standing,
At the
centre of thought and whim,
It too can not win.
When it comes to love,
The person is the cassualty,
A victim of the self,
Either fully consumed, Or horribly
spat out,
Affirmed into strength,
Or torn to weakness
when it comes to love,
These are the truths,
Harshly so they seem,
But constantly strong they be,
Our love is our greatest fit.
©davyvivaldi 2012
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