Thursday, October 27, 2005


“Love” is overused,
Like a greedy, hungry maw
Demanding more food.

“Love” is overused,
A spreading, yawning sinkhole
Swallowing victims.

It is not. It cannot be,
And never has been.

Love always has cost;
Even self-love has its price
And its conditions.

Love always demands
Choices, decisions, actions,
None of them painless.

Love is insistent,
Pressing, unsafe, insecure,
Even when quiet.

Love is imperfect
And no Platonic ideal,
Yet is idolized.

“Love” is many words
Used indiscriminately,
Cobbled together.

“Love” is many things,
Sweetness and light and darkness,

— Steve Snyder
July 21, 2004

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