Love

And sometimes, there is no venture into words, they will not express, they are detached from truth, and then perhaps, they are inclined to lie, albeit in an innocent way, and then the reclining into silence, and the wealth of feeling it is invested with, I am sure that at the zenith, love doesn't crave for a wordy accompaniment, in its purest state, it has the strength to stand on its own, perhaps, it is a provocation, known best to itself, but yet, love must care for itself, it must accept itself, for outside of this, it would have to be a pretender, and love is too real to pretend. Love is at war, it is being subdued, it is being terrorised, there are ones in this world who care to assault it, they are ones with faces, just like the ones that you and I have, and love looks outside of itself, for mirror, be a mirror, let love seep into you, divorce yourself from selfish wants, and allow love its place, to be the master.