There’s a cruelty to love.
At our core,
none of us are
truly
deserving of it.
How grievous,
callous
and
indifferent
we can be.
Confined inside our own minds
desperate to effect
a world
we can not understand.
So like children
we haemorrhage rage
uncontrolled,
rife with pettiness
betrayal,
cold
indifference.
A tantrum of the spirit
desperate for connection.
Yet somehow,
sometimes,
this gift is realised.
It works,
if only
for a time.
Passion flared,
altruistic
gentle.
A blessed grace,
a rare chance
to revel in the quiet
of ecstasies warmth.
Bound to another,
safe,
…finally.
Maybe
that’s what makes it
so necessary,
vital.
For in each of us
we are starved,
ravenous for acceptance.
A comfort and respite
from the hysterical terror
within.
