Love

Love doesn’t grow from the ground,
for you are no sweet flower, Love;
you cannot be plucked by carpe diem
nor by lust can you be stolen.

Love doesn’t greet in early morning
around the grasses as dewdrop rings
to only vanish when noontime sings:
gone until the next one

Love, you’re here forever shining
yet we see through prism’s binding;
and as many portraits we have painted
so many have you from us receded

the great beauty of the eye is a veil
that does rise and fall as the seas
only to vanish into vaporing skies
faint memories of our living

for earth, she mixes Love with Swords
and all that lives and dies is in her
while Love is the purest of her hordes
yet by no means is Love the rarest

but the opposite to this is our Love
a Sun whose light our wings alights;
and even if this fire will find its end
Love will ignite him yet again