This thing called "love"
Has the power to change you,
Make you persevere to the end,
Take you up, around, then back again.
Love has the power to
Make you re-define your very soul,
Drive you crazy if you let it, or
Bring everything under control.
True love is not a game,
Stemming from the trenches of the heart.
Love is something real,
Worthy of the highest honor,
Magnifying, dignifying, and empowering
All who embrace its ways,
Healing even the deepest wounds,
Collecting the pieces of a broken heart,
Fortifying and solidifying it like a stone wall
Even the woes of life will never pierce.
This thing called "love"—
Value it, treasure it, give its honor.
True love rarely shows its face
Amid this bedarkened world.
Never again may you get the chance to experience
The power of love.
Chanté Walker
January 9, 2024
Theres a fire burning upon midnights creek
The symphonic melodies of natures beat
Under a thousand stars the nights entranced
My love,my love please spare me this dance.
On this road where two hearts are unfold
Together as one as the night grows old.
One life to live but this love to die for
Please spare me this dance I do implore.
Shed not those mournful tears lonely down
On the white musk rose on dewy ground.
Feedest your soul within this gothic romance
My love,my love please spare me this dance.
When I look into your eyes the stars unfold
The heavens in bright on bedarkened world
Oh if I should die within this trance
My love,my love please spare me this dance.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.