The great poets say that love is strong and fierce; it destroys evil and kills fear. The great poets often paint love as kind and soothing, able to melt a heart of stone and ice, able to mend the broken bridges of grief and anger. The poets, great or small paint words like wondrous and unimaginable, lustful, white-hot to explain love. It's enough to grab any man by the throat and drag him in the deepest darkness pits in Hell. But what about telling the readers and lovers that love can be anger and a knife in heart, it isn't always good. it has destroyed emperors and good great men and woman of the world. Love, four letters, always on the tip of ones tongue. Something you say in a ending. Love is Final. It can be death in hiding. Desperate and hungry, soul hunting. It can come to many or too few. For me love took me by my very being and sent me to the arms of two men, men that I could have my pick of. It sent me to forbidden places, gardens casted in night’s arms, corridors clothed in dim torches. Love was sweet and overwhelming. Everything the great men and poets spoke about in wonders voices and aw glittering eyes. But Love was also my death in the end. I am no great man, Duke or King. I am nothing back a highly educated woman, favored by to men, brothers. I’m here to tell my story and see if I can warn you like I should have been warned. About Love.
