Inconvenient Love

By Marcus B. Christian

Love is an inconvenient thing --

Out of nowhere it slips,

And grows into something that saves or slays,

Or something that binds or grips;

And it sets a seal upon one's lips.

Love has its own peculiar way --

Knowing its own blind art;

Bending strong souls like reeds to the wind,

And then -- when it does depart --

Stamping in frantic and frenzied pain

A signet upon one's heart.

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