Love Killed No-one

I have a friend. A friend of mine. The kind who is always as drunk with words as I am. In his inquisitions and musings on life, he one day told me this;

"Morris, love killed no one - it never has,

It stole no-one's castle nor took no-one's child,

It did nothing but love,

It only loved.

That's all we blame it for: that love loves..."

"Morris, love never raided your heart - it never has,

It never matched against your wildest dreams,

Nor took away your boldest stances,

Nor imbibed you in its wings...

Oh yeah, now you think it did, huh?

You now blame it for stealing you away, huh?

It never did.

It just stared as you paced it through the dusty paths of desire,

And pitied you when you fell down to worship it;

And when you stared with angst, didn't it warn you not to awaken it?"

"But now you blame for all it has done;

You *sic* blame it for all things done to the hearts of men and women..."

"Love killed no-one,

And if it has been thought to,

Or if it has ever been wanted to be thought that it has,

It was only following its charmer,

For love loves no challenges,

And its charade is a mighty conqueror,

It doesn't steal, it cannot be stolen, but it can be seduced..."

"Yeah, I agree, people have died in the name of love,

Some were fighting for it

Some were fighting it

Some were fighting in it

Some were drunk with it: the muddle being their end

Some were thirsting for it

Some were reaching out for it

Some were hopeful to find it...

Some were finding it

Some didn't even know what they felt -

All in the name of love"

"But love never killed them

It never did

They all died and were buried; and we clutch at their stories with embroidered hearts,

But, yeah, but love took no sword, nor dagger, nor gun to shoot at any of them

It never said, 'Kill them all!!'

You may say it did, but my friend, who witnessed it?"

"So when men and women die,

When they die for love, or in the name of love,

They only seem to die for the other person,

Or for themselves;

Because somewhere love stares and wonders, "Did I really kill them?"

And it holds its stick - its walking stick (because it has become old and frailly of late)

And moves on to see and hear what others have to say...

Only to find the same old accusations in the next lot of peeple..."

"Peeple!", head tilted on walking stick, it softly wonders, "they never understand!".

Bonface Morris.