Love—an illusion, so it well may seem,
A folie à deux shared by two souls that meet;
A construct of the mind, a waking dream,
A primal force that thrives through self-deceit.
The deepest friendship, steeped in loyalty—
Selfless, unconditional, and wise,
Brings hope and trust, bound to eternity—
The purest truth reflected in the eyes.
Yet love distilled unto its basest sense
Is none of these, as all are shamed to know;
A force of life that binds through sly pretense,
To weave its spiral strands in endless show.
And still we lie together, you and I—
Deceived by nature, gazing at the sky.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.