Poetry

Love

It's a mystery nobody understands, or probably ever will.
It's a wild beast that cannot be tamed.
It's a graceful breeze blowing in the wind.
It's an ocean crashing waves against rocks, eroding them away.
It's of a cycle creating beautiful scenery in its mist of destruction.
It's a lie that we go by and a truth that we seek.
It's a curse, or a miracle.

To me, it's a beautiful pain I long for even though I know it will be the death of me.
It travels through my body, entangling itself into my mind possessing me.
It whispers empty promises into my ear arousing me to long further.
It beckons me to grasp it, holding my hand and softly tugging me into it's embrace.

It terrifies me and strikes fear into my soul.
It takes away my self control and influences my thoughts.
It consumes my body and makes me addicted.
It lies to me and makes me feel insecure.
Its unpredictable manner makes me filled with paranoia.
It makes me ache in agonising yet in a craving way.

It is four letters, yet holds such a grasp on humanity.