Love

Love. 
Is that word really so strange? 
Is it really the cause of all your pain? 
Is that what's driving you insane? 
Or is it its meaning, 
That has your boat careening, 
That has you tipping and leaning, 
Over that ledge, 
Preparing you to take that pledge? 
Or, could it be its implements, 
That leave such a dent 
In your scent, 
Even if that's not what you thought you wanted or meant? 
Could such a word, with its implements and meaning 
Be so redeeming 
In its flawed perfection? 
So generous with its rejection, 
And so eager to show everyone the reflection 
Of its unnecessary dejection? 
Or is the experience much simpler than we make it out to be? 
Is it just too hard for the human mind to see, 
That though love is cruel and love is kind, 
Love is also blind, 
Ninety nine percent of the time. 
And that we see what we want to see, when we want to see it 
And what we see is probably exactly what we're gonna get. 
So, when that four-letter word comes knocking at your door, 
If you decide to open it and take what's in store, 
Just remember that its effects and consequences will be with you forevermore.