Poetry

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From a suffering heart and a wounded brow,
love was most greatly found;
For in pain, the heart opens.
An aroma of passion enbalms the giver -
a display evidencing places of importance;
the cost determines the value.
In moments of ease and calm,
complacency is found,
And love is limited.
For when the heart is whole, full -
No pain, no grief, no suffering -
Neither is love shared, but selfishly hoarded.
But when a heart breaks, hurts -
Struggles, heartaches are oft found -
And love greater grows.
While in the pain, the faithful thrive
For true love is giving up, giving over . . .
. . . your desires, your hopes your dreams
for the betterment of another!

"Greater love has no [woman] than this: that she lays down her life for her friend!"

H. C. 3.19.2006

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