Perhaps to love is to burn in hell without remorse
Since, in the days that I did, I had no recourse
But to break rules, as set in the tablets of stone
To consider love as if given to me on loan.
Triple the harm, a lion’s den, standing room only
Love, even at its sweetest state, a folly.
Still, hopeful as I am, forge ahead I did
To freely love is to willingly bleed.
Perhaps, to be positive about matters of the heart
Is to be happy foremost and to suffer in part
Granola bars, unevenly sweet, caramel in the pores
Love, unevenly sweet, closes and opens doors.