Form: Quatrains

Love, a state of contradiction and such,
a world of deep joy, yet agony too.
Is it enough or could it be too much?
Senses sharper than any orange construe

each time we risk the heart to that thing, love.
‘Never again,’ we say after each break,
always we do forget that pledge thereof.
The heart worn on the sleeve, sense we forsake.

Without love we are nothing but alone.
Someone to hold brings such contented joy.
Previous hurts a new love does atone,
so open your heart, no need to be coy.

©JG Farmer 2008