Love is the closing of every gate
behind which lie potential mates
it matters not how others rate
in the qualities of great debate
to give a person value
with reason comes a wintry air
the season brings the heart's despair
when one should chance on chilly charm
the double link will split apart
with logic as the cutter
but love's a thief who holds all keys
and grows with care, like hasteful trees;
so mind-locked prisoner breaks his bonds
and spreads like plague in lover's thoughts
to turn all cynics hopeful
with time the tattered rags glow gold
and summer winds replace the cold
the hawk eyes dull and grow a film
of dreams and romance like a burning kiln
such is the influence of emotion
love is a woman in a bullet chamber
who never misses what she aims for
she sits there, set to hit her mark,
and even in the blackest dark,
she catches all she sees
