The Ringmaster Unseen
Love, like a baby, cries in the night.
For a mother with suckling breast to fill a hungry stomach.
For a father to lift it high in the air-
Eyes ablaze with awe.
Love, like a doe, taunts a hunter with deceiving speed thru the trees-
Skipping then sprinting again.
Is not love surer of foot?
Is not love tighter of grasp?
Is not love stronger to hold than the snapping noose-
Leaving a body choking, bruised, and aching upon the ground,
Never silently swaying to the creaking limb?
Must love play, like a harlequin, the game of fools?
One in love.
One longing for another.
One sincere.
One sorry for insincerity's sake.
Love is a knife thrown at a spinning target.
Love is a cry for help carried by wind to some passerby.
Love is pure like poison-a gift to the soul that longs to fly.
Love is cool like drops of rain rising to a flood.
Love, like a mystery, moves our souls to search.
To find clues to ourselves.
To bumble thru a perilous tale.
Love is funny to watch,
Frightening to feel.
Love...
The ringmaster unseen.
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