Squanders Of Love Poem by Achim Wollscheid

From where did love come;
It's salient features like the blinding sun,
standing out enough so that it be clearly seen.
And why's love so mean,
sardonic and rushed?
Why, at this moment,
does my heart seem so crushed?
Our lips tremble words that are vain, all vain!
But these squandering gestures relieve me of pain.
Call it despairing; call it out by its very name,
but I know there are many who live in this manner (all the same) .

And its sloppy when its driven by nothing more than lust.
It promises a good night, but lacks indelible trust.
Everyday it asphyxiates, but everyday it rebuilds,
and the moments aren't spent monotonously
but it's expected they eventually grow ill.
How then is anyone suppose to feel?
When the radiant light has dimmed immensely
and is barely present, how averted and shy...
how averted and shy it becomes.
To polar directions, your heart and mine run and run and run
until the yarn that fit us together is finally undone.