You try to hold love because you see it as solid.

A sensory endeavor, lacking and stolid.

But as I see love, its celestial and magic.

The worldly perspective so limited and tragic.

I hear it yell out with trumpets and horns.

It learns and adapts, constantly reborn.

I feel it go through me, it makes no sense.

Because love is not spoken, it’s much more intense.

‘More Than Words’ explained my utter disdain.

Real love is bigger than a kiss in the rain.

If you try to convince me you’ve figured it out.

You’ll fill me with pity, distrust, and doubt.

For love is not clay or a baffling riddle.

That’s a dishonest distortion wrapped in a taradiddle.

By the way, love’s like a cloud that leaves no trace.

It exists not in sight, sound, or space.

In the end we all love something, in this abbreviated life.

Through failure, pain, turmoil, resentment, and strife.