They say love begins

With a long, soul-soothing,

Confessional walk

That ends at a dock

Facing a beautiful sunset,

Where a luring tune of a flute

Promises that love is cute.

 

Lucky are ‘they’ who say so,

But if their lines fail,

And efforts go in vain,

Would they lay low?

 

I’ve heard to their sanctimonious talks,

I’ve also been on such walks

And I don’t mean to mock,

But I haven’t seen or heard

To what’s been romantically told;

Loving someone has

Only left me cold.

 

At the dock, I’ve sat alone,

And only heard to puny tune

Of a rusted old flute

That told me how

Love isn’t always cute.

 

It seems heavenly and sound,

Until one of them wants to

Retouch the ground;

It feels as though

The world has grown bereft

Of love and commitment,

Often a togetherness promise

Emits a betrayal scent.   

 

Love isn’t always around,

Or tangibly close,

Its sometimes far,

Like a distant star,

The idea of it coming near

Would only arouse great fear;

Fear of facing another loss,

Or feelings being tossed.

 

I sit at the edge of the dock,

Staring at the night sky,

It’s ineffable how some

Still want to give it a try,

When a faraway lightning

Warns about love having

Apocalyptic attributes,

Maybe they’re okay with

Being destroyed that way,

I live today to watch that another day.

 

And from beneath the creaky wood,

I hear to a puny tune

Of a rusted old flute

That tells me how

Love isn’t always cute.