Love
Love is not the joining of the hearts.
Nor the meeting of the eyes.
It has no breath or width,
or height or depth or size.
Love is not measured by gold,
or in the number of things we do.
Nor is it measured by who we know,
or friends whether many or few.
Its unknown how love comes to be.
It can't be bought, traded, or sold.
Its a strange thing that can't be seen,
always new and never old.
Love's not born out of passion,
by people late at night.
Its not created through desires,
nor delivered by Moons golden light.
Its not found in breathtaking bodies,
or the beauty of the skin.
Love is real yet can't be seen,
something felt just like the Wind.
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