Why must we love?

Why must we love...you’ve always asked?

Because we simply have no choice.

Our seed must propagate its seed,

so love is grown from primal need;

attraction spawns its fatal brood,

and brings a wild, impulsive mood.

But have you ever wondered why

you feel so empty when love is done;

it’s madness past; it’s fever run?

Because without it you can’t find

a better cause to fill your mind.

And the irony then, of course,

is ending back where you began,

watching others wear its glove;

catching voices, breathing sighs

lost from your lips that only mouth

sounds you dare not make or hear,

or mist your eye with a lover’s tear.

But left alone its song will hue

that aches with each remembered sound;

each voice you’ve smothered underground.

A Siren’s call you least expect,

it drives all mad who love neglect.