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Soap Box Poets

Love
© by Christine Fischer

There was no love when we were apes.
Or was there, who could estimate?

Is it born through contemplation
or vanishing in twists of ratio?

Projected into dreams´ perfection
it´s shrinking in the dead reflection.

The more I search the less I find
though it´s everywhere proclaimed.

A word, a trade, a fake romance,
“love” may lose significance.

Still love would have a correlate,
that´s hard for me to catch by word.

All theories just won´t enlight,
more likely they obliterate!

Literate, but vain debate
on a hazy kiss of fate.

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