Love is a putrid fruit
To the empty soul
That, dejected, weeps dry tears
And prays false prayers
To a deaf god.
Love is an illusion
To that intellect
That, arrogant, rejects all
That senses cannot account,
Substituting chemical interactions
For Love’s reactions.
Noble is the lost hero,
That rejects those that reject
The illusions they proclaim
And knows truth,
As wheat from chaff,
Worthy is the scholar
Possessing an agile mind
That does not stumble
Upon discoveries,
Made and unknown,
Who walks with faith
Upon infertile soil
That bears miraculous fruit.
Blessed is the lover,
That brave soul
Who is above all
Friend of hope,
Enabler of faith,
Light in the darkness.
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