Romance in a Lesser World

Love is an illusion in which the masses fall prey to weakness.
They make themselves vulnerable to all manners of suffering,
putting their worst flaws out with their greatest assets.
All these the vicious tiger can snatch and grab at,
tearing all that the person was to shreds of history, emotion, and dreams.

Yet for all this, I submit myself.
I stand naked and blind in the face of the mirage,
ready to feel the dull razors of hate and resentment
slide through my ivory flesh.

The one I love is all that I will myself to live for,
and beyond that, I am nothing.
I define myself not by my own ambitions,
but by what I can and will do for her.

Even as I shed my armaments and stand bared to her,
she erects a castle to protect herself.
Her fortress is made of denial and fears,
the hope of being better off alone.

Through the illusion I had dowsed myself in to bathe and wait,
I see the walls rise before me.
The claws she might have posessed have turned to cannons,
they fire with great force, able to penetrate the most armored soul,
but are without aim, or melee-range and catch only the dust on the ground behind me.

I wait at the base, poised to assault and siege,
but I do not take up my sword or my defenses.
I place my hands gently on the wall,
caressing its icy bricks.
I sigh gently, and then I dig.
I tear at the wall, my fingers scratching at the rough surface.
The burn and tear and scrape, further exposing me to her assaults.
Not even my skin can protect me.

In a perfect world, love would come easily,
and all men and women would bathe together in the cool waters.
Words and action would be unnecessary,
for each man and each woman would know, indubitably, the truth of the other's feeling,
and by the same token, be sure of themselves.

However, I assure you,
Romance still exists, even in our lesser world.