Love, it is a loaded word, and so we shy away
Even when it is, precise, the one we mean to say.
Affinity, goodwill, wanting for another only best.
Isn’t all this love? Why insinuate the rest?
Love can be for spirit, for heart as well as mind.
Isn’t this the love for soul we long strive to find?
Doesn’t such love endure beyond when passions burn and die?
When passion is first what we seek
How often do we find
—Rather than the love we thought—
Only empty lies?
I will choose the spirit. I will choose the heart.
I can live without the rest if souls are not apart.
Love is a loaded word. For years I shied away
But know now, without a doubt, it’s what I mean to say.
Love is the word I choose. Judge me if you will,
And if you think it foolish, I will choose it still.