Love's the most sweetest of all convictions,
a sentence passed in the present with pleas;
an avowed moment as Time ever flees
from minutes that no period can sieze,
standing to be judged by Time's vagaries.
Love's an all-apparent contradiction,
wherein emotion and reason will strain,
limited by how language must constrain,
yet, it strides ever forward through thought's train;
proof we're not mere results of heart and brain.
Love's the simplicity of conception,
that if found lacking, must be truly grieved,
for through it's working's, Truth may be achieved;
a Time when none may feel lost or deceived,
all else lies forgotten as Love's conceived.
Copyright © Ryan McCabe