They say that love is blind
That it tints the world with roses
And hides the cracks in the soul.
But can you call it blindness
To see beyond the cracks
Into what is hidden like a seed -
To shower it with sun and rain
and fill the world with roses?
Is it foolishness
To love the loveless
That they might lovely be?

Hate's cataracts
paint the world black
with its own blindness.

-- Kathryn A