Love
is like the wind,
having direction without diction.
An element not seen but felt;
often heard only by those who choose to listen.
Unbreakable by man,
but quite often set aside from our senses.
A natural beauty used and hidden for selfish benefit of man.
It is creation by fate not choice,
and indefinite in quantity.
A force of many domineers.
Influence of temperament; hot and cold.
Some bitter to its presence;
closed minded to it’s meaning, beauty, and larger purpose.
Beauty seen by the soul,
but blind to the eye.
Limitless to just how many it may touch.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem