The Art Of Love

Love, an undying freedom of enduring Ecstacy It's profound ignition transparents eons of the inverse Melancholy Seen by a soul with a hallow naked eye Like An authors most intimate art piece Being Clothed with his thought stained Fortress. Love, an infinite river of out flowing spiritual essence Flawless from its embodiment in us Raw nurtured to bare fruit of humanity While grounding roots of self-love that expand to the far ends of internal growth. The art of love is incapable of being tarnished to non-existence. Our hearts like matching outfits, the only difference is that mine is torn Empty promises are a bottle filled with crucified angels Fading memories, deprived from a bleeding entity It's a deadbed Confession how love is prophesied Its ephemeral element leaves astray hearts in the cold Unbearable agony generalises hatred onto our tongue's. Exhibiting black image's, beauty witnessed without sequential patterns of gratified thought. The ratio of one soul holds a sequence of universal parables.