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Love

love is not a pair of scales,
virtue and vice, weighed on each side,
a tipping for virtue, rewarded with love,

for which cheated wife, did not forgive her mate?
which coldly spurned lover, did not think twilight thoughts of his beloved?
and sigh, at what may have been, and might still be (oh, desperate hope)
which mother, did deny her comforting womb, to her murderer son?

love, rather, is a fickle little devil,
inclined towards beauty and power,
but not always,
it owes no'one nothing,
not as true as it is made out to be,
but all consuming,
for a time at least,
till it renews its search for a muse,

so stop playing your game of "should",
as that is not love's game.
stop harping upon your graces,
and curse the sky,
because love never was about deserving was it?

Humans

Humans are strange creatures,
indeed,
They approach each other,
with the guarded caution of territorial beasts,
suspicious, defensive,
Clad totally in the garb of social manners,
polite, formal, superficial,
But somewhere they discover a warming,

what confounds me totally however,
is when they are soon locked in,
nature's primal game,
their wilderness, once in such stark opposition,
now even wilder, but intermingled,
all defenses cast off, soul and body,
left open to grave harm,
without a care.

how did this happen, and when,
what moment, what things were said?
was anything said?
to pass this impossible chasm?

and it always happens.
always.

i, the not amused, but confounded observer,
because i know,
its a game forever beyond me.

The Geometry of You and Me

my life is y = a,
and yours y = b,
two parallel lines on the xy plane,
destined never to meet,
separated always by a - b,
but we weren't always equidistant,
because strangely our paths intersected,
at point O,
as you yourself said
"isn't it strange we met?",

but our paths diverged,
even though briefly i imagined our lives to be forever coincidental,
and you an integral part of my life,
the feeling although natural, wasn't rational,
hence proved on the whole, not to be real,
maybe it was because,
i assumed mostly negative values,
and you lay mostly on the positive side of the origin,

but didn't Riemann prove,
that even parallel lines meet at infinity?,
if time is introduced into the equation?,
but alas,
we are not lines but line segments,
of uncertain length,
each destined to end,
not at A, B, or C,
but D.

Desperados

Desperadoes,
come in all shapes and sizes,
some obviously so,
loud and rowdy,
unashamed,
some subtly so,
covert, controlled,
but we are all bound in one aspect,
the eyes,
searching, shifty,
hungry

even though you may be long gone,
but your fragrance lingers on