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This poem was written in a fit of rage. I wrote this a few years ago when I was recovering from a bout of unrequited love. I put my pen to paper and this came to me. It is meant to convey how difficult and complicated love truly is. Love is sometimes both amazing and terrible. In this poem, I hope to translate all of the complications associated with love.


Is deep and mysterious like the ocean,

sends waves cluttered with mixed feelings to our sandy shores.

A place where joy and distress are inextricably intertwined.


Love comes in an arrangement of hues.

Burning red passion runs through our veins,

yellow rays shine into our hearts illuminating joy.


And on the other hand it is icy blue,

guarding the exterior of our hearts with grief

unable to allow happiness to seep in,

blocking all openings, exterminating the chance of a life without constant darkness.


Love paints masterpieces more intriguing than Picasso,

With an intelligence superior to Divinci,

Its works are as beautiful as the Mona Lisa,

and as dark and twisted as the scream.

Using our hearts as its canvas, unwilling to

Spare us of its brutal strokes.

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