Love?
Yes, to love, it is to live.
But how does one love with a wilting heart?
How generous can a hand that's felt the flames of hell be;
will it know gentleness and kindness
or be held captive to the tortures of the world?

How free can a hurt mind be;
will it coil up into its own thoughts
and drown out its own voice,
not utter a word even when it's in dire need,
cos it bleeds, more than any other could ever believe,
how much can one longing to live give.

How much hope can a broken vessel have;
does it look beyond the pains of today
for the joys of tomorrow,
or sells the joys of today,
holding onto the sorrows of yesterday,
cos the sorrows of yesterday were once present days.

Can he then, upon whom pain is inflicted,
see the pain of another,
and touch that heart as a fellow brother.
How far out will they willingly reach out their arm,
how much of their hand can they lend.
Will they understand the suffering of another,
whilst they haven't understood their own.

Do not ponder on the likeness of the masses,
it is in our nature to shun that which is good,
We judge that which we do not understand
and readily understand that which we do no judge.

As bodly as I can claim then;
Love is the way and there is no other.

© Panducollections&co