Blind Love

Is it love that is all whim and dream,

Merely lost, like a mariner at sea,

Whose stars too long obscured by clouds,

Have become a tragic yet hopeful shroud

As he drifts aimlessly?

Love that is solid like a stone,

Formed never by the will alone, and

transparent love goes deepest yet,

while opacity and blindness harbor regret;

if love is real, may it be known.

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