Win the heart with love and win the hate with kindness.
Poetry contains few words but tells much. Its beauty is that by being condensed it is rich in meaning and open to various interpretations. Unlike prose, there is no boundary to poetry. There is nothing concrete or black and white. Poetry is mutable; it is transformative. Poetry is the alchemy of hearts. And what cannot be said in prose can sometimes be only said through poetry.
The way to a woman’s heart might best be reached via a short cut.
Every person has his secret; in reverie, unbeknown to others, he finds peace, freedom, sorrow and love.
You wear your heart on your sleeve. Guard it more carefully, lest others see it and pluck it out.
Disbelief held me down inside my footsteps, making my body heavy but my heart wild.
When once more alone, I reviewed the information I had got; looked into my heart, examined its thoughts and feelings, and endeavored to bring back with a strict hand such as had been straying through imagination’s boundless and trackless waste, into the safe fold of common sense.
To love without ownership, to love with total trust and faith in that very love, to love with the same faith you have that your heart will keep beating moments from now, that is the ultimate love.
How could you love something so destructive?” I ask.
“Because this wolf doesn’t care if your heart is whole or not,” you say. “It tastes just the same.
The mind judges in order to love. The heart just loves unconditionally.