75. Your love
Everybody loves you,
but who loves you the most?
The fervent admirer,
who has had any amount of wives?
Or the fallen lover,
who desperately tries to forget you?
The old man,
who pathetically keeps his love a secret,
since he knows he never can have you,
or myself, who never loved until now?
You were only made for love
but for a higher kind of love
than what any woman can be loved by
mortally, since your essence is more than that,
your soul lying bare like your music
like the divinity of beauty
that only can be loved by adoration
at a distance to make it safe
from ever running the risk of getting defiled.
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
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Written on 2006-08-27 at 13:00
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