You couldn't breathe it
though it sure is inspiring
You couldn't eat it
though it appears satiating
You couldn't wear or boast it
even though it looks enticing
You couldn't even spell it
It's that spell-binding
Nor could you depend on it
It's notorious for bad timing
Best is to leave it
to the realms of myth
where magic lines the guts of unicorns
and rainbow-dreams arch over horizons
There is no place for something as absurd
yet as convincing
as finding true love
when you're done looking for it
If it were such a must
the clever evolution would've ensured
it's surviving among the fittest
An anomaly not worth having
when normal-cy is so
outrageously cast to fit
the needs and necessities of life,
marriage and procreation included.
Yet you can feel it gnawing
in the void left by the moon not showing up
in the sky on empty nights,
in the groaning of the walls
of an empty house on an autumn eve
Poetry need find some muse
other than this random rarity
that has kept many a hearts
hanging,
waiting to die,
waiting to live.
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