The Warmth Of Love

Outside, the landscape is covered with snow;
treachery is hidden within its depth;
inside, I’m barricaded, with no place to go;
as tho I am buried in death.

Every life is destined to walk a slippery path;
promised and ordained from above;
home is our only escape from all wrath;
wrapped in the warmth of love.

Love is the refuge from a cold, lonely night;
as a cruel world demands we conform;
love makes her demand, I continue to write;
I’ve only my love to keep me warm.

And so I reach out; with the passions of love;
to all who are lonely and cold tonight;
embracing the warmth of the Master, above;
love is the blanket for every moonlight.

Without love; life becomes lonely and cold;
our essence becomes devoid of reason;
without love; every life swiftly grows old;
death is the most wintry season.

As the body dies; love simply carries on;
there’s never a reason to cry;
no matter the circumstance; love is never gone;
love wasn’t created to die.

Physicality is the illusion of transient seasons;
its illusions; a constant ebb and flow;
in the essence of time; we’ll see the reasons;
love’s warmth makes the soul grow.

Monty 1/6/25. # 2559