A life sustained by water pure,

yet marred by memory of the wine.

Like fragrant waft of soft allure

diminished not by hands of time.

Forever clear the water streams,

yet never ends the draw to wine.

Forever helpless so all seems

to purge the memory from my mind.

Though water's healing - ever constant,

soft and clean and unaware

how often it hath quenched my ...

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Love is a game, a journey of sorts,

a search for the one who is right.

And of all the seekers, just what do they know,

are not all just travelers at night?

For it seems in darkness they search hill and dale,

hoping to find their true love.

Awash in the masses, a literal throng,

mixed in amongst push and shove.

And so, as you seek for to find it y...

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