The Properties Of Love

This world does judge us all
As the Grande Dame watches
Like domino's do we fall
To each rule made up as we go along...

What then the rules of love?
The lines drawn the perimeters determined
By whom but we, fools all
To bring down life to a dead stall

Over and over it is preached
On the workings of love
But never do the rules remain the same
Some unwritten sentence of blame

Why a gift so divine as this is restricted...
To what end my friends?
For if love is so as it is believed
Why then is it not for all to partake?

Why licensed to one? Why shared with a few
Where has this led us to?
This almighty emotion that causes the commotion
Must be good enough to give to you

Why then the limits?
Does Love have the same face in all
That when described the vision is the same?
Yet, while nearly exact, one fact remains

Each definition is not the same
While we all know it by it's name
We would seek to harness love
Even unto the gods above

So, another label this?
Or, will it be allowed to be
As it is, what it is, a sigh of caring
Worth sharing, worth daring

A ceremony does not love make
A caring heart does not love break
Love knows no bounds by it's own definition
That very one we have given

It falls into disinterest when not cultivated
When rejected and hated
Much like ourselves it's very name our persona
To explain the growing within still debated

Do not seek to label or capture the aspects
They do not fall neatly into organized catalogs
Nor any dictatorial scholar agreed upon
The subtle nuances of it's abstracts

Perhaps it is the absence of hate, anger and jealousy
No matter what the shape it may take
So what then does it matter to the mix?
No longer Love when stirred with politics

Society demands of me to believe
But I can not conceive of Love
With rules and regulations
As I watch our own degradations

My friends, we choose selfishly for Love's sake
When it is for the care and need of others
That in Love we should give or take
I say it grows from what we cultivate

Not many will agree with me...
For like any commodity
Love is bought and sold at some price
And now degenerated becomes a vice

A spirit free of societies judgemental fears
Will know Love as it is meant to be
Without a name, face or voice...not for sale
But gifted by choice