LOVE IS AN ANCIENT DISEASE

OMNIA VINCIT AMOR

In a quiet voice
She speaks to me
Her words
In equal parts
Parable
Riddle
And confession
She says:
’tis true, my dear
’tis all quite terrible
Twisted
And perverse
Man is man’s demise
His cowardice hollow and ashen
And yet earth keeps revolving around the sun
In a ceaseless elliptical fashion
She brushes a tear from my cheek
Her eyes brutal
Beautiful
Vulgar
And o so sad
Her lips they part
Again she speaks:
Yet ’tis all no more than a parable
If you will, a riddle
And hear thee, dear
This is my confession:
I’ve trespassed against my fellow man
And I’ve lain with men and beasts
Think of me what you will
These words will be my last:
The flesh it withers
And visions die
Yes, life kills all
But omnia vincit amor
Love
Love conquers all