The Treacherous Love

Why is love so powerful and so unmerciful?
When it grasps us in its choking embrace, threatening to never let go
Keeping its tight hold and killing the prey ever so slowly

Why is it so unafraid?
When it infiltrates the body with its impurities
Leaving an eternal scar of selfishness and lustfulness
Keeping the body alert of it's presence when it is not sought

Love has dual names
One of which is love itself and the other remaining nameless, leaving any being under its scorn overwhelmed
Like the forbidden fruit and it's watchful eye, making contact without a single touch
Often embedding the mind with no other thoughts but itself

There are many who seek love to embrace it
The search resulting as a gruesome one, when it is never found
Even if it is found, due to the consequences that can come from it

Is it love that is impure or is it people?
Are we the wilted flowers among the seemingly unblemished garden?
Or is it right to accuse love of it's injustices?

Is it even love that is being spoken of?
Maybe it isn't
Maybe it's simply a different specimen
One that is haunting and drives the sanest of men to madness
Maybe it goes by another name, one that is unfamiliar to the world I know
One that exists elsewhere and keeps people at bay
Teasing and taunting and beholding the power it's manifestation has on the petty souls of human beings