Ph: Echo: To Love Is To Surrender Poem by Brian Johnston

It's true that she loves her tears most of all,
With her tears she starts every day,
Could this be how she earns her pay?
I keep wondering, what's in it for her?
Not under arrest, why stay in the stir?

There are times she says when with sun's first ray
She feels already a loser,
With few assets, she's no user,
Even death it seems, claims her heart in vain.
But his quest for her soul, still doesn't wane!

I look hard but there is no abuser,
My awareness set on high gain,
But I see no cause for her pain.
People around her seem blessed with God's love,
Her problems past, only she's aware of!

She wants to live large but scorns rich champagne
Beauty, like Catherine DeNeuve,
Her roots gypsy, with skin olive,
Red wine and beer are more to her liking,
She won't get drunk in spite of out psyching.*

Happier days? It's death to speak thereof,
The pain of her days often striking,
Though she's cunning like a Viking,
Any thought that she will spare you remiss,
She's not a model for ‘living your bliss! '

No solutions? Her temper is spiking…
In truth, all I need is a kiss,
(Though dreaming of what I still miss!)
Forget about peace, enjoy the clatter,
Controlling things just conjures ‘Mad Hatter.'

The desert's treasure is its oasis, **
Some die, in search of the latter,
Life's not served on silver platter,
Surely it's foolish to let this appall,
When one's already in sight of landfall.