Love

What is love? A hunger, a demand, A desperate want to hold another's hand? To force a pulse of feeling in return, Or some ephemeral, passing fire to burn? A billion times I asked the empty air, Mistaking obsession for the answer there.

For lust wears many masks, and hunger stays, Consuming moments in a fierce ablaze. Obsession binds like iron, sharp and deep, A phantom debt that we are forced to keep— A frantic thirst, a molecule confined Within an ocean where we go stone blind.

I knew the ache of wanting, wild and loud, The frantic need to stand out in a crowd. I knew attachment like a heavy chain, The sweet delirium, the sudden pain. I thought true love a myth, an ideal spun To warm the shadows where the heart has run.

And then—a rhythm sparked in quiet grace, Months spent in patience just to see her face, To wait out seasons for a simple Hi, Beneath the stillness of a patient sky. Not craving what she thinks, nor what she says, Just knowing that this quiet truth delays All doubt. A natural glow, a gift of earth, That breathes into a weary soul new birth.

A mere glance breaks the solitude of years, And calms the sudden, self-inflicted fears. No poetry is deep enough to hold The timeless story that these eyes unfold; No text can trap the way a passing smile Can lift the darkness for a little while.

Like the boy who harnessed wind in skies afar, She captures light and guides it like a star. Am I gone mad? Has reason slipped away? My heavy armor stripped and cast to clay, It wakes the man, it makes the spirit young, A breathless song that yet remains unsung.