The Book of Love

The book of love is long and boring

And written very long ago.

It’s filled with hope and dreams and light-

And not a hint of torturous woe.

But love’s not hope. Nor is it light

It’s pain and grief and blinding sight

Of all you ever wished to hold

Despoiled by the rising night.

OOO

If it was only night, I’d cry

For pure, clean joy. It isn’t so

It’s darkness in the noontime sun

The hate that rises from below

To snatch the shards that we hold dear

From shaking hands. But crueler yet

It lets you hold them for a time

So that you never can forget

OOO

All that you had. All that you lost.

All that you longed for, all you dreamed.

Hold not to hope. I tried it once

And felt it rot away. I screamed

And no one heard my desperate cries

Ah, what a life! For this is true

The pain. The grief. It’s something dear

It’s something that I always knew.

OOO

I loved one once. Too fast to fade

I loved once more. They left as well

And when the last broke ancient ties

I damned myself into this hell.

I don’t love now. It’s only pain

Call me a coward if you will

I’ve had enough of being hurt

And I refuse to pay their bill.

OOO

The book of love is just a lie

If love were truth, it’d be spiked chains

Wrapped ‘round the soul. A book? No way.

For all the price, it never claims

To be redemption from our sins.

If you seek love, now turn away

I’ve had enough of foolish thoughts

For time sweeps all into decay.