An Ode to Love

What is this, this thing called love,
This disease that spills forth and infects our blood?
As cold as ice, as sharp as a knife,
To all it brings division and strife,
This insanity of love.

Love? Love, you say?
Love is the deadliest game you play!
My friend, sever that bond,
For when you love,
It is of the Devil that you are fond!

That joy that once was, is no longer,
In its place, the face of a wretch and a fool made somber.
This cruel, harsh world makes means to kill our joy,
With this foul thing called love.
As venomous as a snake, yet seeming as gentle as a dove,
It deceives us all, this cancer we call love.

Dear friend,
If you are indeed wise and learned,
You will cease to live your sordid life in sin,
And realise just how dreadfully you have been burned,
Not once, not twice, but thrice,
All in the name of the risen Christ!

You have been bled of all life,
You have been fooled and fed the flesh of mice,
Forced to partake of the wine of the weak,
You shut your eyes hard so you may fall fast asleep,
And when you awake,
There will be nothing there,
Your dreams stolen and broken and set aflame,
Nothing left of them at all except for burnt ashes in the air.

Come, step away from that blinding light,
And join us here down below, deep in the solace of endless night,
Where there is no love and no sorrow,
Nothing but nothing and nothing,
Where we can live life true and free,
Forever and tomorrow.