Time Does Pass by Mike Williams 01/29/2016 @ 7:35 P.M.

My bonnie lass the time does pass,
The days are short and fleeting.
I've come by with you in eye,
In hopes of a perchance meeting.

Your father and your mother wave,
They have come out to greet me.
For I wish to ask for your hand,
If my own you'll consent to be.

I have not much money girl,
A farmer of the land am I.
With all the love I have to give,
Never a day should you cry.

I've watched you now o' many year,
And know that you're the one for me.
O' bonnie lass I've come to ask,
Down on my bended knee.

Will you have me an anwer soon,
The fields are near to sowing.
I could live happy at heart a while,
Just in the certain of the knowing.

My bonnie lass the days do pass,
It is time now for the reeping.
My heart is filled up evermore,
You've given me your keeping.

Me And My Red Brolly by Mike Williams 08/29/2016 @ 7:30 P.M.

I was walking down the roadway,
The skies turned melancholy,
In the rain I started to play,
Amid the loblolly.

Under the raindrops silver spray,
"Gee, by gosh, by golly!"
I danced around the drizzle day,
What a fit of folly!

I jumped puddles along the way,
"Lolly, lolly, lolly!"
Let the clouds turn grey if they may,
Me and my red brolly.

tulips (haiku) by Mike Williams 08/28/2016 @ 5:27 P.M.

blushing tulip buds
opening in spring fever
coital pleasures bloom

A Blue Violin by Mike Williams 08/28/2016 @ 3:07 A.M.

A blue violin plays,
Under the fullest moon,
As dancing shadows sway,
It murmurs a sad tune.

I hear a heart breaking,
And crickets softly croon,
The sonorous low sound,
A cantilena's swoon.

Oh! The timbre and wind,
There it is once again,
With the strings of my soul,
Plays a blue violin.

From The Sea of Tranquility by Mike Williams 08/27/2016 @ 12:28 P.M.

A hope, a dream, a view serine,
The earth I see in my purview,
Awake, asleep, a distant plea,
I stand in awe before it's blue.

A hue, a mood, a soft moonbeam,
From the lifeless spance here in lieu,
Afar, a star, to where you are,
I wonder if you see me too.

A wish, a thought, for what it's wrought,
For whatever good it may do,
From the sea of tranquility,
I hold the same desire for you.

I Have Loved In Many Forms by Mike Williams 08/22/2016 @ 3:44 P.M.

I have loved in many forms;  
Through blurs and negatives,  
Washed grey, faded away, 
And sometimes while in vain. 

I have loved in many forms; 
I watch, wait, and listen,  
The droning of a heart. 
But learned to love the same. 

I have loved in many forms; 
A moment's fiddle plays, 
or shaped along the way, 
Love's not just black or white. 

I have loved in many forms; 
Like nidifying birds,  
As if wingless flight occurs, 
In a crushed velvet night.  

And timeless this one truth,  
Be it old age or youth, 
Love has no social norms. 
I have loved in many forms.  

Common Sense by Mike Williams 08/22/2016 @ 1:61 P.M.

Something uncommon existed before, 
But I don't see much of it anymore, 
A way of thinking that used to be true, 
Going the way of the Dodo bird too. 

As carbon is common all around us, 
And clouds in space of particles of dust, 
Like printed money is worthless in hand, 
So leaves the imprint of unthinking man. 

Ignorance and idleness grows by day, 
Ubiquitous and thus leading the way, 
A pound of manure unworth a pence, 
And long gone are the days of common sense. 

Dew Drop Inn by Mike Williams 08/21/2016 @ 9:00 A.M.

Oh! I recall the Dew Drop Inn — 
A place purveyed once an afternoon. 
For as taverns go I found it off beat, 
Along a hidden road sometime mid June. 

The keep was shy and quiet was she, 
As few patrons indeed did come. 
Then I wondered in for respite, 
But she and I the only one. 

The old stained glass windows stoic, 
Hung heavy curtains on either side. 
The craftsman stairs and ceiling fan, 
Harkened to the days long gone by. 

An old long case clock chimed the hour, 
As time passes slowly there within. 
A sign thanked above the doorway, 
For staying at The Dew Drop Inn. 

Backward by Mike Williams 08/20/2016 @ 12:32 P.M.

I started writing backward,
When I was about ten.
There's so few things to do,
With a black ball point pen.

I tried to write upside down,
And stood upon my head.
I wrote doing a backbend,
But scribbled it instead.

I tried to write with crayons,
And even tried with chalk,
Though I couldn't read it well,
And my teachers would balk.

One day while doing flip flops,
I know it sounds absurd,
That's when I got the idea,
And started writing backward.

The Nobility of Poetry by Mike Williams 08/19/2016 @ 7:21 A.M.

Long ago in the days of yore,
Poetry ment a great deal more.
A test of king's wit grew to fame,
For it was a thinking man's game.

A challenge, a riddle with words,
The battle of minds would occur.
Holding to a strict tradition,
Structured in rigid condition.

When strangers came into the court,
The king himself had a report.
To test the newcomers of mind,
And wise or foolish would he find.

As time went on poetry grew,
And became entertainment too.
Less was the testing of long old,
Theatrics, song, and stories told.

Now any fool comes that domain,
And ways of old hold no refrain.
Away with thought and there did sing,
Where once it was a nobel thing.

Fairy Ring by Mike Williams 08/18/2016 @ 7:21 P.M.

The rain shrouded the wood all through spring, 
And since verdant the groves did grow, 
A white misty lace curtained low, 
On the rolling sylvan hill's upswing. 

From my window I watched awaiting, 
Time stood still and I felt it though, 
To that woodland I wished to go, 
Amid wild flowers and butterfly's wing. 

For days I heard a faint splashing ting, 
Alas through clouds the sun broke slow, 
Trailing off into the trees aglow, 
There I chanced on a beautiful thing. 

Where robins play and the sparrows sing, 
Whence came a path I didn't know, 
Beneath the fern hid row on row, 
Lay a mushroom circle fairy ring. 

A Vicious Cycle by Mike Williams 08/18/2016 @ 5:15 P.M.

Why lay your hands upon me,
What in the world did I do?
You hold my heart can't you see,
I treasured my love for you. 

Blotch marks trace upon my ribs,
Violent in violet and red,
Fingerprints leave behind skids,
Along my body and head.

A teardrop begins to fall,
I bite my tongue and hold in,
And brick up an inner wall,
Knowing you'll abuse me again.

The Rambling Coo Coo Ca-choo by Mike Williams 08/18/2016 @ 4:25 P.M.

Beware the man you thought you knew, 
rage The Rambling Coo Coo Ca-choo. 
Such insane paths that he has tred, 
you'll never know to where they've led. 

He's crazy but can't see it too, 
there is no telling what he'll do.
His fearful eyes glaze over red, 
you can't understand what he's said.

When his real self starts to show through, 
rage The Rambling Coo Coo Ca-choo.
He is poison inside your head,
and leaves you with a sense of dread.

Beware the man you thought you knew, 
rage The Rambling Coo Coo Ca-choo. 
Such insane paths that he had tred, 
you'll never know to where they've led.

Twilight Surprise by Mike Williams 08/18/2016 @ 12:26 A.M.

Whence twilight came betwixt dawn and dusk, 
And shadows fall and light fade. 
Dims mine vision upon leaves of rust, 
Hence imaginings overplayed. 

For I tarry a we bit too long, 
Thus I've seemed to lost my way. 
Afright for everything since gone wrong, 
Whence tree tops begin to sway. 

"Och! Leave me alane! Ochone! Lat abe! 
Och! A daena whit ye are! 
Wae's me! Lat abe, a'm afeart o ye! 
A hae stravaig hauf ower faur!" 

Frightened out of mine wits and shaking, 
For the rustling of tree. 
Then I heard laughter in the distance, 
'Twas mine luvie after me! 

The It, The I, and The Over I by Mike Williams 08/17/2016 @ 10:12 P.M.

Das Es, or Id is animal desire, 
Which ignites a selfish fire. 
Das Ich, or Ego is a horse rider, 
And tries to rein in desire. 

Das Über-Ich or Super Ego is polite, 
From societal views of what is right. 
The It, the I, and the Over-I fight, 
But without Ego a fire would ignite. 

Why do we call selfish people Egotistical? 
Shouldn't we refer to the Es or Id? 
It just doesn't quite seem very logical, 
When the Ego tightens down the lid. 

Idotistical seems like a much better fit, 
When describing those who go too far. 
For the instinctual fire that burns inside, 
The Ego keeps concealed within the jar. 

Humble Pie by Mike Williams 08/17/2016 @ 8:27 P.M.

I shot my mouth off to the sky, 
And befell a bird or two. 
Before thinking what would it rue? 
Giving none to reason why. 

Black bird, black bird, crust of rye, 
Pinch my nose and swallow too! 
How many bites must I go through, 
Before I guess I will die? 

Why did I tell a darted lie, 
What good purpose could it do? 
Now wishing I had said what's true, 
And not eating humble pie! 

Melodies of Night by Mike Williams 08/17/2016 @ 6:21 P.M.

Tymbal the cicadas, 
In the still, 
Under a tree, 
Sings the whippoorwill. 

Play the reeds, 
And the rushes, 
Crickets stridulate attune, 
Between their hushes. 

The owlet hoots, 
In soft moonlight, 
Melodious the breeze, 
Upon the night. 

Love Has Died by Mike Williams 08/17/2016 @ 3:33 P.M.

Hush the sparrow, 
Blot the sun, 
Love has died, 
Life is done. 
 
Come with clouds, 
Let it rain,
Bring the mourners,
Living is pain. 

Dark the room, 
Bolt the door, 
Let me sleep, 
Feel nothing more. 

Traa - dy - liooar (Time Enough) Sonnet by Mike Williams 08/17/2017 @ 2:00 P.M.

'Tis a sweetness to hear traa - dy - liooar; 
For short the time and often unsaid. 
If sun be shown, where upon Vannin's shore; 
Day be kind, clouds whisper overhead. 

Roish looking for aalin in every place.
None such timidity did I find; 
And by some strange pardon is nature's grace, 
Where all too often not for mankind. 

I long to tarry, yet hurry the day; 
That moments hath a fleeting fast pace. 
By which I can rarely linger the way; 
And no time for footsteps to retrace. 

By the sea eased the bar a moment more,
I can say the sweet words traa - dy - liooar!

Stella by Mike Williams 08/16/2016 @ 4:25 P.M.

Where are you Stella, 
Hiding in a cloud? 
You're keeping secrets, 
Or you're being proud. 

What are you doing? 
Where have you now gone? 
I can't see your face, 
Isn't it turned on? 

Looking where you are, 
And I cannot find. 
Stella, oh! my star, 
What is on your mind? 

The Mind's Garden by Mike Williams 08/16/2016 @ 5:59 A.M.

To the tender of a fertile field, 
Whom plants wit and wry. 
For tares and snares flora can't yield, 
And waters have run dry. 

Be there intellect the seed that grows, 
And its fruit most sweet. 
But overrun are the common grower's rows, 
Whose field can not compete. 

Unforgiven by Mike Williams 08/16/2016 @ 4:04 A.M.

For a few spent breaths, 
Doth black the rose. 
I suppose of the axe, 
The tree never forgets. 
Though you have forgiven me, 
I've not recovered yet. 

Now comes the dawn breaking, 
To renew the groves, 
And the rose's dew. 
Still stood I thus awaiting. 
As a bridal wood. 
Jilted and unforgiven you. 

Aym Avourneen (Manx Gaelig poem) by Mike Williams 08/14/2016 @ 11:94 P.M.

Tra ihemeen daunsy yn traaghan,
Heese eayst jeeaghit ec y vullagh gial.
As yn treshlen arrane injil,
Raad yn drine blaa bane.

Yn bochilley coontys oc booaghyn, 
Cha vow laue ny haue veg.
Nane - jees - tree - kiare - queig,
Haink mettey shen aym avourneen.

Reaching A Star by Mike Williams 08/12/2016 @ 12:01 P.M.

What dream so great at others expense, 
Or act worthy without valued integrity? 
What voice without reason doth laments, 
To speak not with honor and probity? 

For dreams they are a dime a dozen, 
And voices far too often go unheard. 
By vile actions produce vexation its cousin, 
Renduring the whole point quite absurd. 

Sparkles, spangles, and shiny objects catch the eye;
Cheap as glitter and flash in the end.
Disillusion all when founded upon the smallest lie,
Worthless as dust like that they too rend.

Many share the same dream often, 
But method proves the manner taken. 
That thy quest besought becomes forgotten, 
Diminished by the truth since forsaken. 

By thy hand 'tis all revealed, 
The dreamer shows who they are. 
Two paths fated apart and sealed, 
Be they both reaching a star. 

Virtue & Vice by Mike Williams 08/10/2017 @ 7:02 A.M.

How do we distinguish between men and mice?  
For some say virtue and others say vice.  
Or perhaps they are both about the same, 
Each acting in accord to their own refrain.

Why argue over one's favored book of choice?  
Are not they all some distant propagandic voice?  
What unreal divine imaginings turn laymen prophets too?  
Until we're unthinking, knowing not what to do.  

You'll never hear of mice and religious war.  
While mankind still battles on and whatever for?  
Maybe mice know something much wiser than men,  
And opinions are all opinions in the end.  

Those languages of old and their allusive poetry,  
Mere gathered points of view often taken literally.  
From their address of ancient differing culturalistic concern.  
Yet we read the books and never learn.  

So much for the compendiums written men's hand, 
And for their breeding I shall never understand. 
'Tis more noble the natural way of mice,  
Better their perspectives of both virtue and vice.  

The Slaying of the Slybiterzurück (Nonsense Poem) by Mike Williams 08/12/2016 @ 6:51 A.M.

The Slaying of the Slybiterzurück (Nonsense Poem) by Mike Williams 08/12/2016 @ 6:51 A.M.

`Tis gossdorn, the banded prickpie taresnay 
To gnashbit and nailback up the klippe: 
Quatsch for the knacklenimbkopf bramblesay, 
And the schlechtmal baitrows overtrip. 

"Keep an eye open for the Slybiterzurück! 
The poison tongue, the petrified dewy-eyed stare! 
And the Cacklecon, and the Cafélack, 
My girl, indeed keep aware!" 

Taking her comporal shield and wunderwaffe: 
Scaling the klippe and spied the lay -- 
Then stood she by the isolate stream, 
And quiet was the bramblesay. 

Came gruffing forth from the knacklenimbcoff wilde, 
The Cacklecon and the Cafélack, 
Ninnyhammers stammering appeared her at first puerile.
The two gnoffing commenced attack! 

Once distracted shewed the Slybiterzurück behind, 
With the comporal shield and waffe she held her ground, 
And parted the gruesome twosome in kind, 
Then struck that sly beast down. 

"Did thee slay the Slybiterzurück, pray, 
Stand up to the Cacklecon and Cafélack? 
O brave the day all the townies say! 
How that girl came back!" 

`Tis gossdorn, the banded prickpie taresnay 
To gnashbit and nailback up the klippe: 
Quatsch for the knacklenimbkopf bramblesay, 
And the schlechtmal baitrows overtrip. 

Van Gogh's Ear For Poetry by Mike Williams 08/11/2016 @ 1:55 A.M.

Oh! My dear you're not hearing me, 
You have Van Gogh's ear for poetry. 
As we ascend into the starry night, 
One star fell and lost its light. 

I paint with wit and language too,
Composing in form as poetry ought to do.
And twist the words and turn a phrase,
Yet it would seem you are hardly phased.

I could write a million splendid works, 
Still I can't get beyond your quirks.
Words seem to allude you I fear, 
Certainly you must have Van Gogh's ear. 

Frivolity of F Words by Mike Williams 08/10/2016 @ 10:47 P.M.

Formed feelings felt for frivolity, 
Favors fate's fickle finger fine. 
Found fair faces famously familiar, 
Far from fierce facets feline. 

Friendly fat farmers filling fields, 
Feature fabulous Fall festivals fiscally. 
Figure fellow frank fraternal factors, 
Focuses fun finally for family. 

Elephants On Holiday by Mike Williams 08/10/2016 @ 3:06 P.M.

Elephants in high heels,
Tiptoe through the trees,
In the wood silently,
Without crunching upon leaves.

Lined head to tail,
To make their train,
Never late without fail,
Marching the Elephants came.

Traveling packs of pachyderms,
Lugging around a trunk,
Who happily holiday together,
Unforgetting thoughts they thunk.

Nonsense by Mike Williams 08/09/2016 @ 9:24 A.M.

Some nonsense once in a while,
Makes the wisest of men smile.
For life without fun hasn't worth,
And humor becomes its greatest mirth.

So laugh away your cares today,
No one gets out alive anyway.
Too much seriousness rues the head,
Before too long you're already dead.

Come ills and trials soon enough,
And this life is often tough.
There is but one single recompense,
In the childlike wonder of nonsense.

Ire by Mike Williams 08/08/2016 @ 7:56 P.M.

Fire spitting and breathing dragons,  
Tempered flush in constant angered flame.  
Hush thy mouths of twin ill humors,  
For neither have the greater claim.  

'Tis not one better than the other,  
Canst thee not comprehend thy mire?  
Both burning violent and vile vehemently,  
Quarreling in opposition in same such ire. 

The world around the lay in ruin,  
Left with ashen and bitter taste.  
We await thee to make thy finish,  
Anger's irony lays all to waste. 

Look thee both into the mirror, 
Are not thy face dragon too. 
Two faces revealed in reflection, 
Does not truth stare back at you?

Hither Come Tither Gone by Mike Williams 08/08/2016 @ 6:46 P.M.

One eye open from heaven, 
Arise with one star awake. 
Golden dew on the lily, 
Sunrise mirrors over the lake. 

Breezes rustle upon the tree, 
Shaking lose its crimson leaf. 
The sky deepens its blues, 
Another eve appears in disbelief. 

All the world seems to settle, 
As white swans glide to shore. 
Hither come tither gone morrow, 
And I return home once more. 

Jejune by Mike Williams 08/08/2016 @ 5:56 P.M.

Meager morsels for the mind,  
Thy palate 'tis an empty crumb.  
Stricken I to mine hunger pangs,  
Away with thee in wanton sum.  

Does thy bread bring affliction,  
As for flour unable to rise.  
Thy sword kept in its sheath,  
Dull its rusted blade without surprise.  

I would argue and too wager,  
Had not thee come unprepared.  
Depriving all of sustenance and company,
A bore to intellect beyond compare. 

Starvation and impoverishment keeps its presence, 
With an inner depth of a teaspoon. 
Alas the world goes without education, 
Empty and ravished and jejune. 

Once We Danced by Mike Williams 08/08/2016 @ 10:51A.M.

Gone with the hour and swept away, 
Our lives like wind upon the strand,
As waves recessing on laps of sand,
Not a golden grain could I stave. 

We walk and talk and laugh and dance, 
Our love flickers and flames and then snuffed, 
As the delights are never quite long enough, 
Of balls and banquets, beaches and moonlight romance. 

As we whirled around holding tightly,
A kiss and a clasp of hands,
Gazing starry-eyed secretly behind plumed feathered fans,
Had we our moment to shine brightly? 

A scent which lingers in a room, 
The fleeting fragrance that cannot stay,
Silage reminding short the time away,
As memory lasts like a spilled perfume. 

If that picture all too soon fading,
And if this life is but a dream,
For nothing is as it may seem,
I'll dwell on feelings once thought elating.

I return to those empty rooms alone, 
Left to me in lonely recalled vespers,
And wade the beach of moonlit whispers, 
That my world may not forget thee.

Much of ourselves is left to chance,
Parties and parting never as we wish,
To savor but spoonfuls the sweetly dish,
When together a moment once we danced.

Missing The Mark by Mike Williams 08/06/2016 @ 6:43 P.M.

The bow taught and back drawn, 
Before me the target to hit, 
And wavering flew high the arrow, 
Adjacent to strike aside of it. 

Pulling hard once more the string, 
I'm tempted to target yet again, 
And letting fly the shaft and feather, 
To miss the mark calling it sin. 

Pray tell the bullseye so distant, 
Yet to try and shout hark, 
Mine aim thwarted as I quiver, 
And once more missing the mark. 

The Meandering Mind by Mike Williams 08/06/2016 @ 5:08 P.M.

My mind meanders off without me, 
And speaks to itself in dreams oft. 
I close my eyes in want of sleep, 
While conversations reel inward aloft. 

In language that only it knows, 
And tongues that I spake not before. 
Making sense of senseless imaginings, 
And harkening back to days of yore. 

I find myself intruding upon awakening, 
And trinkle a moment to catch a phrase. 
All the night it rambles and babbles, 
Higgledy-piggledy in mysterious ways. 

Appearances Beguiled by Mike Williams 08/06/2017 @ 2:35 P.M.

The organ of imagination neglected oftenly,
Dull and drab and dripping droopily down,
'Tis not an ornament atop a tree,
Of herbage and hedges hinged abound,
That verbage dribbles thy tongue offensively.

By comparrison pales thy glow,
Seeming wrought with wrath and fraught,
For what eschews I do not know,
And idle remains wit ornamented not,
Besting the external impression you show.

Begging for a single drop of dew,
If parched bone dry of intellect untasted,
Apperances alone do not become you,
All thy outward glitter is wasted,
And smartly spangles can not trim true.

The Ties That Bind by Mike Williams 08/06/2016 @ 1:00 P.M.

From cradle to grave there are ties that bind,  
Some are ill fated while others free,  
To choose the choosing we are made by choice,  
But of the matters familiar 'tis sometimes removed, 
And burden visited upon thee.  

The will of iron bent and heart of steel wrent,  
Undone when constantly pressed and plied,  
Or a metal proven by time and circumstance,  
Yet I forge on courageous to the end,  
Knowing of test and trial I tried.  

Where Do I Fit In? by Mike Williams 08/05/2016 @ 2:53 A.M.

A painter who can't paint, 
A songbird without singing a song, 
A poet without a line, 
Where do they all belong? 

A visionary without sight, 
A butterfly with a broken wing, 
A tree without a leaf, 
A bell without a ring. 

A novel without pages, 
A place full of dead ends, 
A heart without a hope, 
Where do I fit in? 

When Greed Was King by Mike Williams 08/03/2016 @ 10:41 A.M.

There once lived a mighty king  
that loved gold beyond belief;  
who killed his kilth and his kin,  
for he was a greedy thief.

Obsession grew malicious
and apathy over time;
avarice seeped pernicious
to muddled with the king's mind.

Suffering this king's complex,  
the relm held on by a breath. 
He overtaxed his poor subjects  
and they nearly starved to death.
 
The king paid no heed to cries 
in his palace on the hill;  
lofty, looking toward the skies,  
he taxed them all further still.  

Whence came a fatal evening
and raised a loud battle cry.  
"No more of this king's scheming!"
Raised a plot for him to die.  

Poisoned was the king's gold cup
and heavy his golden crown.  
In his pride he deeply supped
as his wealth thus laid him down.

Hated by an angry horde,
the kings's stronghold fell to foes.
Plundered too the golden hoard,
and so the old story goes.

Be careful of what you desire 
and what you'll do for a thing.
For all the ill you acquire -
kills as when greed was king. 

Men In Cages by Mike Williams 08/02/2016 @ 11:48 A.M.

Have you ever seen men in cages, 
And wondered what is the principal point?
They waste away what seems like ages, 
And rarely rehabilitate inside of the joint. 

The sick system we call criminal justice, 
Is not really any justice at all. 
A mistake made one pays a lifetime, 
It is human to err, stumble, and fall. 

To those that have been long neglected, 
Takes a twist and turn upon the mind, 
Cages kill the best of human spirit, 
And cause greater issues you will find. 

How many innocent men are locked away, 
And robbed of freedom, finances, and choice? 
The legal eagles have got their man, 
To put behind bars with silenced voice. 

The court and lawyers make their money, 
And prisons are a profitable industry too. 
Little good may it do for society, 
When hardened criminals are released upon you. 

For criminal victims there is little restitution, 
Who profits from ones we marginalize? 
What is the intent of an institution? 
It's time we opened up our eyes! 

I Just Can't by Mike Williams 08/01/2016 @ 8:52 P.M.

I can't I thought today, 
Whatever you decide to say. 
Though it sounds like excusses, 
The point is use and useless uses. 
I just can't, I just can't, I just can't! 

I'm not in the mood, 
Let me stay and brood. 
I'll contend with my muses, 
The point is use and useless uses. 
I just can't, I just can't, I just can't! 

I shant deal at all, 
And it is my call. 
It may seem extremely ruthless, 
The point is use and useless uses. 
I just can't, I just can't, I just can't! 

Vantage Points by Mike Williams 08/01/2016 @ 7:43 A.M.

Beauty is much like Time, Money, Love, and Religion.
They are illusive concepts their keepers give value to.
To some, a thing is attractive and others see it not.
Time has more value to those that have less of it, some see it from a linear viewpoint and others cyclical when viewed from a universal distance.
And Money to some is but paper and metal coin, without intrinsic value save that which it is given or applied to it.
Love can be thought a physiological chemical response, a hypothetical viewpoint from the vantage of the one who places it from within on an outward object, a feeling, a desire, or an action.
Religion to some is a man-made concept, while others are steeped in their traditions and view the world and life through that lense.
Perception becomes our reality.
As carbon based life forms, we must begin to analyze what it is to be human. What meanings we apply to our familiar environment, concepts, and vantage points from multiple points of view and not limit our thinking.