Love, the Hard Conqueror
These darts of love fly from our eyes
Adrip with passion's poisons clear and sweet,
Our aim that of another heart's defeat,
Its mute enslavement to our sighs.
Love blasts holes of unexpected size
In our defense; no wall will be respected.
The briarbarbed fence of self-content
Is breached, and trampled, with perspective.
Passion paints its fell directives
To our sniper's scoping of the front,
That field of victims fair,
To take down and devour in the hunt.
The wounds of pride will bear the brunt
Of soft assault upon stern self-control;
Desire stabs the shuddering soul
Until its thirsting edge grows blunt.
Thus we conspire to murder our sleep
While surrendering self-rule
To serve another's purpose
As captives of the deep
Dungeons of our needs, and keep
The key clutched tightly in our hand,
Afraid to lose the sweet ache of love,
Loath to let complacency sweep
Devotion from the stage, and weep
The loss of desperate, mutual need
That grows within, that intoxicant weed
Of victorious love we rush to reap.
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