True love, is a mixed bag of emotions and desires.
Sometimes we can't help ourselves when it comes to diving right on in.
A formidable attraction, mentally stimulated.
Energy born out of nothing.
An invisible ether.
Forever looking to be burned.
From the depth of the beyond.
Fickle is the expression love, because it changes by the moment.
By the thought.
It becomes part of our needs and wants.
A lust to fill the unending void.
But sometimes in due haste.
We make mistakes.
And this creates a spark of rage and hate.
Because we were certain that was what we wanted.
Downtrodden to being disappointed.
In the context of being content, make sure there is enough substance to feed the fire long after kindling and candle wax have burnt up.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A beautiful description of love...