To Live – To Love – to hurt.
What worth is it all
If one could live and not hurt,
Love and not hurt,
Live and not love?
How can living, loving and hurting
Be justified as fair?
How can it when to love, to give and take, to share
Is only rewarded with bountiful amounts
Of hurt, pain and torture?
How can this be so if to live is to love and thus to hurt?
Isn’t it said that love can
Bring joy in all that one touches,
That it can open all locked doors,
Disarm all hostility – weapons,
Set free the imprisoned souls of the aloof?
How then can love cause grief in such undue bulk?
If love could precipitate such lashings of hurt,
Why call it love?
For if love was capable of such immense treacheries
It would be despicable to differentiate love and hate.
What is love then,
Being not hate, treachery or disloyalty?
Is love then the hard-hitting rascal,
Which toys with ones feelings
Exalts one to the very realms of ecstasy
Only to smash one down mercilessly to the ground?
What then is the price of love?
To hurt? To suffer in silence? To hate?
Why do we so willingly give ourselves up
For this consummation we call love,
When we are fully aware of the heartaches
That we are inclined to experience?
Is it fair to live then,
If only to suffer the obstacle – love,
To bear the undue bulk of love,
And to suffer the abominable pain of cupid’s arrow?