Why come it is that soon as the sun comes out, the clouds want to rain?
That as soon as stability is attained, then the ground wants to quake?
Why come it is that a beautiful maiden never wants your heart until it’s off the market?
… Why is it that all exercises in being one’s self in pursuit of being a dynamic duo leave you as a solo vigilante, but then when you become the Batman all them other women feel like robbin… They try and return to steal that which was freely offered to them in the first place. Makes no sense. It’s a nuisance not worthy of recompense, but a deadly snare needing to be exposed and bankrupted. A blood rush returning to a closed vein can only end in a rupture… It’s a sad day to see the thirsty hounds return to the cup that someone more worthy now drinks from. In all honesty- that veiled misery is amusing. A little more than a civilian, but considerably less than royalty, this court jester was once poised to be queen but rejected the king and violated brand loyalty. There is only one brand of loyalty in the royal courts, and that is belief. Belief in one another and belief in the unseen, and since in the days past in your eyes I was unseen, now from my throne the only part of you worthy to look at me- is the top of your weave…
Why come it is that some of the greatest beauty is only skin deep?
That the lovelies whose potential you can perceive oftentimes CAN’T see?
Why come it is that the first love cannot be the only love…
… Why is it that a heartful of such potent emotion soaked in an ocean of coast to coast hoping can rope in some bull? How can such certainty in the wisdom of the choice frame you, leaving you depicted as a fool? Not cool. Although at the time it was hot- feelings of warmth from the bridge of your nose to tips of your socks, every heartbeat the fervent tap of your one love’s knock knock, and you let them in, and then it STOPS. The choreography was clearly laid out waitin for the beat to drop, pow goes your sniper shot of “ouch,” and when the beat knocked you knocked me to the ground and dougie’d your way out through a hole in the sound… That one love was supposed to be Beethoven’s unbroken melody, but it was a rough stone who left the heart with more jagged edges than a porcupine on its belly…
Why come it is that love is so simple, yet difficult?
That selflessness is a lesson desired by most, but that most refuse to know?
Why come it is that despite all of our folly, the Good Lord loves us so…?