Without love, one is an empty shell,
Walking around in a doomed sort of hell,
Never reaching out, never being touched by,
That emotion which makes the spirit soar ever high,
Ever high, on the thrill of,
A magical instance, we call love...
Walking around in a doomed sort of hell,
Never reaching out, never being touched by,
That emotion which makes the spirit soar ever high,
Ever high, on the thrill of,
A magical instance, we call love...
Without love, life is not the same,
It is filled with the strategies of a game,
No warmth to sear the heart, the soul,
The soul is never free, nor whole,
It cannot be whole without the thrill of,
A magical instance, we call love...
Without love, what is there?
What becomes of the need to share?
What drives, what inspires, the emotional being?
What captures the imagination if it is not love we are seeing,
For we are not seeing righteousness without the thrill of,
A magical instance, we call love...
2 comments:
Oh that is so true Lyndalyn! Sorry I have been absent I'm running around like a chicken with my head cut off. Trying to take advantage of the waning summer.
Hope your weekend was excellent Lyndalyn! And you had lots of fun! :D
No problem Rog, I have been busy too... yeah, me too, the waning Summer which went by WAY TOO FAST... weekend was great... thanks, much love, hugs and :))))
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