What is Love?
Is it a word,
Used at random impetuosity,
Or with soothing care?

Is it a thought,
Fickle and undecided,
Or powerful and relentless,
Set forever in solid stone?

Is it a gift,
Extravagant yet meaningless,
Or simple but with transparent sincerity,
To be eroded by time but remembered by the heart?

Is it a deed,
Coy and unruly,
Or protective and selfless,
Never flinching in the face of never-ending dark?

Is it a need,
Weak and waning,
Or insatiable and unquenchable,
Worried with every second apart?

Is it the showers of flowers,
Money and sweets,
Or the hailstorms of harsh scolding
And strict discipline?

Is it the feeling we get
Whenever we see each other
At the dark before the dawn,
When things cannot possibly be worse?

Is it the laughter and jokes we share
With friends and acquaintances?
Or is it the joy and harmony
At a gathering where all is present?

Is it present in times of peace and trust
And in times of fear and strife,
Fuel to the spark of courage and hope
That burns in our hearts?

Is it the rose in full bloom?
Is it the bald eagle,
Teaching its young to fly?
Or the tiger its cubs to hunt?

Is it fiery desire,
Unmitigated and inexorable?
Is it the cool, calming care
In the gentle touch of a mother?

Is it gentle persuasion and teaching?
Is it wholehearted support and understanding tolerance?
Is it the inexplicable loyalty and willingness to care, to help and to heal?
Is it certain and decided, persisting to the very end?

Is it forgiveness and joy,
Despite all the curses and banes of existence?
Is it simply a heady adventure,
Or the key to the chains of our misery?

Is it unconditional and irrevocable,
A sacred word uttered by lovers in the dead of night?
Or is it merely a lust for possession,
A ruthless, aching want?

Is love the cause of peace,
Or the cause of war?
Is it cruel and selfish,
Or benevolent and generous?

What is love?
From what I know of the world,
I would say that love is indefinable.
But the best description is that real love,
Asks only for the well-being of the other.