The dragonfly has no inhibitions, creates no delusion, sees everything around it and is iridescent, revealing its colors when the light falls upon it.
When a bomb is dropped or when murder finds even one, a part of Love dies with the one, another perishes with the slayer. With each drop of venom that oozes into the water, with every war waged, each rape committed, a part of Love dies. When hunger finds its way into the ribs of children, when famine snatches the breath of life away, when death crawls in from the screech of emptiness, a part of Love dies.
The dragonfly, unlike Love, lives without regret…
© 2011 by mark prime
very nice!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Mickey... It is much appreciated.
ReplyDelete