Well-fitted Glove


Where does real love begin if not with self
When others speak of their fortune and wealth
In flashing cash and denying nature
To buy emotions and then call it love
And degradation becomes their rapture
For love is not a thing money can buy
Nor can love be paid by a credit card
The heart cannot be used without a why
When it is left shattered to its last shard
Love is the freedom in a gentle sigh
It is not easy; in fact, it is hard
It is wildness without chance of capture
And to the soul it’s a well-fitted glove
That can only be found once we love self.

©JG Framer 2013
Form: Ivorian Sonnet 94