Your body is perfect in it's physical structure
I am drunk in desire for youe sexual indulgence
Confusing my lust, to be love, set in time immortal
I blind myself entirely to the truth
For I am, and was just a silly pawn in your game
I became a source for money, a toy for sex, and a puppet for you to control
To say that Karma does exist is pointless, because baby, you had me fooled
The drugs are what seemed to bind us together
As I foolishly bowed down before your wrath, and constant anger
I loved you, despite your flaws, as I fought desperately to keep you
Emotionally, unstable I wounded myself and entertained suicidal tendiences
I silently watched from up close and from afar
Like some wild animal I hunted you down, guided by your bittersweet scent
Desperatley wanting you, needing you, as my passion ate me up inside
Repeatedly you left, but you always returned to me
Even still, I did the very same thing to you
What it is that keeps us togther, I swear I do not know
It may just be that we have become an endless joke and amusement for the gods
We have tried in vain to seperate from each other, to leave
But it seems that fate compels us to stay, and try yet again
It could be that our very differences have become what made us into one
So, come here, and touch me, remind me that I'm still alive, that you are real
Show me, that this relationship is no mere illusion, no dream, no elaborate lie
Teach me again, my love, how to think and how to feel
In so doing you will give me one last ture moment of happiness
Before, I give up the fight, close my eyes, quietly leave this world, and die
date: Tuesday, November 9, 2004
by: D. Grant Renshaw
The power of love is a great and terrible mystery
It's source rises up from some great, yet hidden spiritual well
At time driving men to blind acts of utter foolishness
Yet, at times even healing the broken body and heart
The color of love varies like the autumn leaves
It can bear the shades of blue, and even the various shades of grey
Flowing as clear as spring water, washing us as white as snow
Sometimes, it's as red as freshly spilled blood
The music love produces is just as wonderous and strange
It can be as soothing as an orchestra of strings
Whether in a crowd of many, sitting so safe, and so alone
It's ever-reaching arms have sought out and have found us
For the power of love is a great and terrible mystery
It's source seems to run from some deep, hidden spiritual well
It sometimes drives men to great acts of total and utter foolishness
Yet, at time it seemds it can heal the broken mind and heart
date: Friday, November 12, 2004
by: D. Grant Renshaw