by Eleanor Keep
The paradox between ugly sounds and the beauty of love has a magnificent effect
|I cannot help
That my love is staccato:
Short and harsh and
All things that they tell us that love is not.
I cannot change
That my love is like Hell:
You will suffer- but oh how you will love it
But just because my love
And causes more alarm than most
Does not mean that all of this
Comes without its rewards.
Believe me, there will be rewards:
Blood, and Crime, and Punishment.
Suicide and Smoke.
Everything we have ever dreamed of.