Love is low, deep down low, where it’s always been

trying hard to rise above stacked up disregard

and mountainous piles of inconsequential junk

to land in the awareness of the disadvantaged.

But there’s trouble in the camp of this gypsy clan

who thirsty search for water in another’s field

and make up the loving from an overflow

un-contained within by he who dug the well.

Yet be it not a sad, sad, tale of doomed to be a fool

because overflows like rain on seeds can produce a tree

and shade the path of he who walks aloof and alone

up and down, up and down, in the same old-fashioned way.

But to hold and keep forever the times of being deprived

makes nonsense of a mind’s inbuilt override

and grants regal status to sensory impulses

implanted and connected by the uninformed.

All it takes is a firm stand in one state of being

for the disadvantaged to grow tall stately trees

but until love rises up from the deep down depths

the drip and drop from overflows makes a lover, see?

Related Poems

• Thinking love
• The “I love you”
• Strangest thing
• An ordinary thing
• The truth of love