For once, my poem isn't about death or depressing stuff. And sorry, but I couldn't think of anything that rhymes with death.....



Love


Love is a gentle, powerful thing
It can make you cry, it can make you sing
Beware of love, but cherish it so
It’s a simple thing, though some put on a show
Love isn’t about diamonds and jewels
It’s magnificently simple, not for fools
Love can bring life, love can bring death
The latter Juliet found out, it hit her like meth
You get addicted from the start
Unless, like some, you have no heart
To love with.
Love is not fickle, no, that would be lust
It has to be had, it is a must
You may disagree, or maybe you won’t
But I now it to be true, though you don’t
Love is contradictory, as seen you have before
But it is always constant, few find it, no more.