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That Little Four Letter Word Called Love

In the game of love, the act that should be the last, is now the opening salvo. But, as a man... why am I complaining?
In the game of love, the act that should be the last, is now the opening salvo. But, as a man… why am I complaining?

This one is a work in progress. A bit bitter after hearing a fellow poet dismiss men’s romantic verse as “cheesy”, I thought how the shaggers / fuckers call them what you will, win and the decent folk are cast aside in these common times…

Karl Marx said religion was the opiate of the masses. I think in this modern world, what is sacred, sex, has been taken from everything the sexual revolution was meant to be about, to free it from social and religious taboos, and is now abused to be an end in itself, and has become an opiate of our modern age.

No one cares what happens in the world or in their lives, as long as they are getting “the ride”…

Humankind: we are cannot love
To adore we are not free
To court, archaic, ritual case aside
Fools, are poets and romantics like me.

What was sacred, beautiful
Is now what comes first before you talk
You share all before your emotions
In relationships made of chalk

In the swirling waters of life
That our tears wash the lines away
We think we are free, sexual revolution betrayed
We wander blind as night becomes day.

That four letter word called love
Killed by Lust, the gratification it expects
Drunk, all chase ass, driven by it
Enslaved to the tyranny of sex

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