Poem: Love Debates

I get so confused
being with you.
I usually just give up.
Open my self-self
to the newfound spirit within.
Beleiving in things I never beleived in like:
Hope, Love, Freedom, Joy, Life.
How could this be bad?

My cynic points out
that all Love ends bad.
Indivisable: Love and Pain.

My heart tells him to
shut up and appreciate
the flower of love which had
suddenly sprung anew in my
barren old garden of self.
To smell the flower
and become drunk on the perfume,
marvelling with adoration
at the beautification.

"Shut up, old cynic,
and take a rest in the garden."
The fears are temporarily gone
as I marvel at the flower.
Only peace remains,
and her smile,
her skin,
her smell.
The profound feeling
in my deep stomach;
that she cares for me,
that I care for her,
and that that
is enough.

To sit and enjoy
is the nature of Love,
nothing else is required.
The fears and the worries
are merely the ants,
flys, and knats,
at the feet,
of the Goddess.