This Word Called Love

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Oh what can I say about the word love?

Asking if it really is or something conspired

Holding tightly to impressions believed

Searching places where thinking it might be

Wanting desiring for a fleeting fantasy

This action called “to love,” not imagined

Holding it tightly as a song-less, song bird

Caught in a cage insisting, own ways

Perceiving for another the ways they are to be

Strangling the avian not allowing their flight

Captured in a prison of your perceived delight

The fowl looses feathers, plucking them out

Wanting so to be itself, wanting to fly

Away from an insistent conquering fright

Bald and ugly now, plumage falling out

Once stood a beautiful lover and now ~

Behind bars, a seized encapsulated fowl

So what about the word, Love?

Does it exist in our box of ideas

And, is it trapped inside our four walls

Or is it free to fly away for seasons in love

Returning freely, and lively breathing life

Colorful as God intended it to be, so bright

And examine your beautiful bird smiling

And see your neighbors brown, bald and dying

Pulling feathers out under siege

Now tell me, does love let the bird breath

Or does it kill what it can’t perceive

K♣️