Love,

Is nothing but a wingless,

Cold blooded creature,

?

A dauntless pandora,

A fervid plethora

- He is Love,

The imposer of truth and intangible hopes,

That camouflage beneath what lies within.

?

He is..

The tycoon of this melananoid galaxy,

Of Heaven and Earth,

Hell Excluded.

Whom'd sadistically plucked the truth,

From it's stems.

The chaffeur of those lucid dreamers,

That lost their way home,

As He drive them to places they pleased,

The conman that camouflage,

Beneath this sheets of velvet desire,

And tiffany adornments,

The tenant of our beating clockworks,

That reside deep in between this frail ribs,

The savage oppresser ,

That never ceased to amaze those vapid souls,

And stale dreams,

The peddlar, The Thief,

That stole our hearts,

Later put them in the markets.

And yet,

We still lend him our volatile faith,

Thrusting him with our inane chimera

That bleeds from this broken engines.

Despite the crime he commits,

Despite the laws he'd broke into,

And whatever it takes,

All I knew He was,

A grotesque magician,

That tricked our organs,

Towards believing into his blaphemize musings.