"Love
is an evil God," the unlovely say.
"She will not warm or kiss or
serve us.
"She does not deserve us."
And so they turn to words
and wealth and war
and other murderous games which losers play. The
unlovely are special people. They only unite to kill.
They build big pedestals
to justify standing apart,
but love is the ardour of a gentle mind.
Lovers
give by allowing, and their taking is kind.
It is easy to know the others.
We are shrill. Saying
undoes me. Seeing will not let do.
Things numb the hands. Words deafen. Visions
blind.
What the mind grasps stuns and deludes the mind.
To say, see, think
and feel are all ways
of not having you. |