The Love Unknown

The lost love is tragic,

the missing piece of passion that could inspire magic.

But the love that is unknown,

the love that is my home will never be outgrown.

The pain we carry is the love we hold back.

I don’t know what love is, or how to love from lack.

Just know it’s a longing, a light surrounded by black.

An urge to reach out, plant’s roots reaching for water.

Would you bother to leave the safety of the pack?

The pain we carry is the love we hold back.

All my fear, pain and lack.

Slung over my shoulder in the sack.

Oh, it’s so familiar, similar, and obsolete,

a habit of self-deceit.

How pain becomes a comfort is a mysterious fact.

The pain we carry is the love we hold back.

We see the path of pain but still we travel it.

Never thinking that we could unravel it.