The Shadow of Love

A mystery is what we can't understand nor find,

Well, then is love the biggest mystery of all the time.

A phenomena all have professed to have witnessed,

Yet few, if any, can claim to be the one blessed.

If we are to remove all the romanticism from it,

What remains are the fragments that fit,

All the signs of a possession or the ramblings of a mad man,

For whom the void of loneliness was too much and ran.

Often times I have wondered of these strange emotions in me,

For why they come and what do people see?

That a fire lit by a spark turns into a Phoenix,

Which then dies, like most, to emerge from ashes fixed.

I guess when there is light, there are shadows,

When there is happiness surrounding, sadness lurks around like a ghost,

And when you have love in vain,

Shadows are left behind in pain.