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Hate.
It's hate.
Sick, unbalanced, unyielding.
Not love.
Love is the other side of the mirror
Often looks the same.
The passion of love - anger, bitterness
The yearning - jealous, vengeful
To sweetness - too hot, too unsharing
The joy - too selfish, overbearing
The devotion - too thinking and fearful
The eternal - time spent, future-minded
Love is not like this.
Love holds eternity in every second.
Every minute
It blooms
It blossoms into the days
It unfolds its beauty as it will.
The joys of love
Are like flames of a fire
Rising in the moments of dancing
Yes... dancing...
Reaching under the airs of spirit.
Love's devotion can have no bounds.
It must be free to love as it will.
It is not a cage.
It is a golden thread
That will forever return to itself.
Hate is the other side
Like an illusion.
It deceives itself.
It has no room for understanding.
It is impatient and devouring.
It accuses... makes things ugly.
It stands in wait for justification.
It casts spells of suspicion and doubt.
It hurts.
It is in pain.
It is alone and hungry.
There is no balance.
Forever it spends its will getting even...
And its even... is low.
Its balance comes when all is pain.
Hate does not look for the light.
It buries itself in darkness.
Its reality-
Is that it itself is the creator
Of its own madness.
It will spin unceasingly
Until it burns itself out
To the true...
The ashes of self-despisal.
When it is exhausted
It may quiver under the flames
For some moments
Til it turns
And crosses back through the mirror.
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