Love

My love is pathosful,
Yet serene and full-bloom;
It lays me down at the bed of thorns,
And then renders me immune;

A love that beckons-
A truth that touches;
A plasm that sings of purple glow.

Melancholy strain and plaintive notes though
Touches every heart to the core;
Yet at the end, there's the thunderous blow
Of hope, strength, struggle and fight.
For a joy eternal and infinite-
In a soul bathed in the morning sun
At the highest zone of virginal light.