Love, a difficult word to define.
What can we say about love?
Is it something we can taste?
Is it something we can reject?
Or is it just a simple move?
Some said love is what you have,
Your own possession, to give up
For the one you really adore
With whom you want to bridge the gap.
Others said that love is nothing
But an empty bowl full of sorrows
That hurts the lovers with anything
But living nights without tomorrows.
I say Love is the genuine seed
That we first sowed in oneselves
To reap then our first affliction feed
When we get pricked by the smooth thorn
Of that lovely sorrow within ourselves.