Passion. It is as wild as a rose and speechless too;
Love. A mark of devotion;
Often the word shall pass the lips of man;
But to be said and meant, is less likely.
Love is but an instinct;
But a method to keep this race alive.
So that we may walk the earth again and survive.
Perhaps that mark of devotion is simply a cloud in the mind of man.
If so, then let the mist leave my mind;
Recede from me like youth.
Let the hills fall silent and let brutality win;
For love will not keep our minds sane!
We are mad men crowded on this earth;
Living for the heart of another and not our own;
And yet it is such a pleasure!
To love and be loved.
So let hands be cast to the sky;
Wrist dry of blood, body lost of life;
And pray that not us
But those we love survive;
We will die starved;
But our hearts will live eternally;
Love a bitter memory to the body
But to the soul, an opportunity.
We will become great souls;
And though our race my die.
We die as brother's should-
With a heart filled with love
And the mind, echoing 'What if we ruled?'