Hope is a breeze across an open field. Anger comes from pounding on a door, Positive one wants the door to yield. Perhaps from this one senses something more. Yearning is a song to wake the dead. Very few can yearn for what is theirs. Although love waits half-naked on the bed, Life can seem a maze of doors and stairs. Each soul pursues the prey of its desire, Not knowing that to have must mean to kill. There is no deed that documents love's fire; In lovers' hearts, one comes and goes at will. Need is a wind that strips the landscape bare; Eventually one turns, and love is there.
