I write a confession,
But I think it must be accurate
you cannot just confess something.
there must be a logical reason.
some substance there is to understand to control.
Actually I am a simple criminal
taken with your fingers in the honey jar
while I stood and looked stupid,
the expression there is only us goofy men,
on the way to the woman they want to impress.
Have I done something criminal offense?
probably not in a legal sense,
it is more in interpretation,
how you look at life,
evaluating and predominantly.
I have become addicted to a substance,
no physical substance more volatile.
I have thrown me over to catch,
the spirit of love, of all searches,
and I keep it real for me.
I was looking through songs and poems,
and hid it well,
hidden behind the words and letters.
I put a little trap for it.
and now the spirit of Cupid is in my inkstand,
with willow basket and all.
My love poems becomes beautiful,
when I dip the pen in this magic ink,
of course it is not durable over time,
to keep cupid caught in an inkstand,
I know it really well.
but love is so dear to me.
I have let Cupid loose,
there are many people waiting for his arrows,
waiting for the one that is for only them in love,
it is my crime, I want to love as well.
Cupid has promised not to pull the arrow out of me,
but he could be like me?
I trust in love,
that it is for life the entire life,
therefore I will release him from the inkstand.
And I confess that I trust in love,
although this poem is a metaphor.
love is not.
love is forever.
Fly Well my friend,
send arrows of love,
to all of them if you can reach it,
love is the only thing that gets better
when used.
