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I've never had a love whom could show me the way.I've always had a hard time finding the right words to say.It's hard for me to write in the poetic light of love when the dull bright sight of loneliness lulls over every word like a kite.No matter how much I calibrate the words I generate there's still no experience with which I can associate.I try to venerate but my loneliness still finds a way to penetrate.Through every love poem, it finds a way.Every time I write I invite back the memory of my lonely plight.Love is a ray of light and where it shines is not on me.I can barely see the delight with which it ignites.The fire in my heart having burned down to faintly glowing embers.The lack of affection...the reflections of all those lonesome nights are the bitter taste of a withering perception, the weakness of a static reception.And when that darkness enwraps me, cradling me as it feeds me the sickness, I in a bold madness embrace in return wearing it like a cloak as I float beyond the emptiness.For I no longer fear the lack of love.I've found happiness in oneness.