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More from Fox Poet of Parnassus
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Love.
What is it?
Who are we to say we know what it is?
Is it a leasure,
Which can be wielded
In any direction that you desire?
Is it a lustful task,
A sinful thirst which you say demands
To be filled just because
You can't refuse it and instead
Say it's just to please?
Is it only meant to be given
to those who love you?
Who are we to say that is what it is?
Just because we think
That a simple, harrowing, aching, burning
Feeling that hallows out our
Body from within thath that is what love is this? Why do you lie,
Not just to others but yourself?
Did we design the human mind,
The heart, The soul, All of it?
Did we light this passionate
And most divine gift?
No.
Love:
Is a man,
Clean and pure,
Just and peaceful,
Honest and empythetic,
Nailed to a tree out of our anger,
Our hatred, Our wrong, Our pride. And yet,
He forgives them for their Injustice and loves them
Even as they drive the nails into his wrists.
Love is a promise. A dedication.
A pact. A gift. A choice.
And has no boundary
To any individual, rather to all.
Yet there is also a love
Meant for one and only meant
To be shared between those two,
Become one through blessed passion.
Love, Is a universal gift,
Not a private emotion.Made a journal of this poem five months back, felt a bit upset, depressed, and hatful so decided to counter the feelings with the only cure to it there is. Plan on writing more to this poem, make it a whole soliloquy of love poems.
Suspended disbelief- temporarily allowing oneself to believe something that may or may not be true, especially in order to enjoy a work or critique of fiction.
Hope you enjoyed the writing/art work you've seen, *Please* leave a comment, it'd be much appreciated! Thanks. 
"Art is born out of an ill-designed world." "The allotted function of art is not, as is often assumed, to put across ideas, to propagate thoughts, to serve as an example. The aim of art is to prepare a person for death, to plough and harrow his soul, rendering it capable of turning to good." -filmmaker, Andrei Tarkovsky, on what the purpose of art is. 
Category Poetry / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 1000 x 601px
File Size 77.9 kB
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