The Tears of Weeping Lovers

              The tears of weeping lovers fall as soft summer rain on a manicured lawn, glistening for a moment beneath a warming sun and the decadence of a rainbow against a blue sky. Too soon they are gone, dried by earths own beauty, far outdoing the countenance of any human soul laid bare for the want of lost love. Love binds and beguiles, stealing hearts and minds to a landscaped fogged by misconception - Love is not lost, merely misplaced, waiting always to be found again. The tears of lovers are nothing more than a momentary desperation escaping a river of perceived regret into a world that cannot care, for love is blind and thoughts are invisible. Yet we love and we weep with such soft, sweet persistence and unrequited love is the greatest of all sorrows. Think we not on love then? Should we cast aside all such feelings as trivial for fear that we should weep so much the blue summer sky should be permanently draped in rainbows. Mankind cannot exist without love, without the belief that it exists, and more, that it can be found. There is nothing less trivial than the tears of weeping lovers. The soul of mankind is built on passion, on a need to entwine, moulding one body to another and joining minds. Drawing glistening threads of sexuality from an ethereal plain and winding it softly and slowly round impassioned desire, binding and beguiling until parting is far too sweet a sorrow to bear.

              Love is a departure from the rational, the isolation of reality in world held fast by gossamer threads. Love is all and yet so little. It is more than we can bear and far less than we crave when desire becomes a fire we can’t control. Desire alone can drive us to be irrational and to weep unfounded tears in a world that will never care for it has desires of its own. Desire does not need love to exist, but love needs desire.  Love is selfish and yet generous, it gives and gives again until the soul is full to overflowing and the body cannot help but act and react, but it is something we feel alone and can never truly share. But still we try, every overflowing soul raining forth sweet words and impassioned acts and falling endlessly back to trivial pursuits when love is misplaced. Every lovers footstep leaving a trail of heavy scented blooms that intoxicate the mind and, drawing a sheer drape of soft affection, shield them from the world beyond.

              Without love the world would still turn, the dawn would rise as golden as ever and each day would fall into the slowly dying embers of sunset. Only mankind, as emotionally fragile and intricately formed as a single snowflake, would wither and fade if love were to fall into oblivion. Within each human soul is a universe of thoughts, desires and dreams slowly rotating on an axis of self awareness; within the heart of every human is an enduring need to be loved and to love. Love is sweet insanity we would all willingly fall into and never recover. Never for a second do we perceive it as a trivial pursuit and there will always be weeping lovers shedding tears as soft as summer rain on a manicured lawn.