It is to love as it to violence

It is to darkness and is more in depth,

It plays the sound of many violins.

Hearts that long to beat evil and beat death.

Love, it looks over, thus making it rough.

It’s pure and silent, it listens, it speaks

It acts as though it’s real and as it’s tough.

Love, as pure and violent, its blood leaks.

Its love, it can and it will and it must.

For like a dove, it’s quiet in silence.

It rips and it craves, it thirsts and it lusts.

It claws, it tears, and it’s pure violence.

Life pulls and reality strikes, it’s gone.

Violence to love runs a marathon.