Love

There is a beautiful fruit
Borne on stems of thorn
There is a fortress of joy
Where happiness reigns supreme

The luscious pulp
Could bear a bitter tinge
The fort though magnificent
Holds dungeons of pain

Like the pedaling of a bicycle
Sweetness and bitter taste strive
One up and one down
At times both at par

This rhythm makes
This rhythm breaks
For when sweetness bloats
Fruit could turn to missile

Won’t the pain throb
Won’t the heart tear asunder
Shall I then leave the fruit
Or shall I curse the stone

O this rhythm breaks
But this rhythm makes
For when the prick is sore
Sweetness makes it faint

The pain will fade
The torn heart will mend
I will not leave the fruit
I will not curse the stone

Love is a fortress of joy
A place of happiness
Holding dungeons of pain
Deep pain that stabs the heart

Love is a beautiful fruit
Borne on stems of thorn
The pulp though luscious
Could bear a bitter tinge

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