Enraptured

We are living in a world of uncanny love.
A word of false pretense.
For the loved, lover and love giver.

A love that hid beneath a mask of perfections.

Perfections that come in the form of a porcelain face, a charming smile, a melodious voice, a talent to become one with the rhythms of the world, the ability to weave a world through words, wealth, glamour, a physique that enthralls.

A love that leaves nothing to the loved, lover and love giver.
Nothing but loneliness.

Loneliness upon realizing that amidst the laughter and tears,
as the sun sets and the moon that glows with the glow of the sun arise,
a meaningful life moves one more step away from the seeker.

An uncanny love.

A love where the brain becomes intoxicated with illusions.
Illusions that causes one to forget its own origins.
Who am I?
Why am I here?
What am I doing?

A love that taints love.
A love that gives out the imagery of a wilted flower.
A flower,
once so beautiful,
so elegant in its creation,
holy water was given,
water the flower they did,
never missing a beat,
little did they know that,
a flower do not simply live by water,
sunlight, carbon dioxide, pure affection, tender care,
not the obsessive caress nor kiss they keep giving,
day by day, the color drains,
but the water keeps coming,
the uncanny love keeps coming,
they just don't care do they.

As the flower dies another grows,
as a replacement.
A replacement for the idolaters of uncanny love.