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.
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.
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