Pounce not on Hate

Indifference

That glorious wanting you feel,

When you’ve found a beloved to worship,

To complete your ethereal emptiness,

Serenading the dusk of your loneliness,

That thing you call Love.

What is it then the opposite of Love?

Deftly, swiftly, Hate is pounced upon,

But really what of Hate without affection,

For Hate is sparked by non-other than it,

That thing you call Love.

I seek to shed light upon the sleuth,

How it has been slinking amongst the shadows,

Falling in the grace of Light: Revelling,

Its superiority in staying eternally hidden,

Cold and indifferent.

To Love is to feel,

To Hate is to feel,

Infernos in a kiln that is the heart.

What then, is to not feel?

Indifferent.

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Note: Hate is a vicious cycle. It is. But to be indifferent? To be eternally ignorant? Of no awareness? Is there really bliss in that? Perhaps.