They told me love is blind,
an assertion I think you can call
a canard, which is French for “duck.”
I’ve heard it said love will find a way,
which is quite the accomplishment,
seeing as how they claim love
is visually impaired.
They tell me love is in the air,
which, if we follow this shredded metaphor,
is possible only if we accept
that sightless duck syllogism.
I remember hearing love conquers all,
which is a pretty bold statement,
even for a geo-positionally blessed,
That guy sang how love is all you need,
and if all those sayings are true,
he’s probably right.
I never messed with love,
was bent low by my own lonely woe,
couldn’t listen to all the experts,
who toss around their aphorisms,
adages, epigrams and bullshit
like someone else’s money.
But someone has loved me,
which takes serious squinting,
if not looking the other way.
They found this ugly duckling
and conquered his cynical ways,
opening a window, then a door,
in his seamless dark heart.
Now love’s light shines both ways,
even if I don’t stand up straight,
which I find easier with every touch.
Seems love was all I needed.
Free write ramble because my inspiration spigot is stuck and needed a good wrench and twist. And what’s more poetic than a study of love? Even if it is looked at through my scratched-up metaphoric microscope.