They become the tragic angels of the morning, after failing to take wing here on earth. Their crushed bodies found crumpled at the point of their final impact.
Men have given up all of their wealth, in pursuit of that perfect love.
Women thier innocence just trying to capture it.
Wars have been started over the love of two, thousands were butchered over a passion denied.
Old men smile sadly at memories of this long lost cherished friend, old women still primp in the nursing homes in hopes to catch a man's cataract filmed eyes.
Love lingers on the lips of men fallen in combat, they whisper bloody farewells to moms, wives, girlfriends, they are the Angels of the mourning masses back home sacrificed to some distant cause for freedom, They perish far too young.
Love haunts us long after it has passed on, granite stones mark the trails of those we loved, etched in tears and graced with flowers.
Love is uncompromising, it is only our imperfect souls, that break the promises, and the fragile hearts that cling to them.
Love's power is beyond any mere mortal poets efforts to capture it though we have the keys to try, laid out in neat rows in front of us.
Trees have been pounded into pulp for centuries, to hold expressions of love's sweet bliss.
Quills, pens and pencils scratched out the itch, to expound on the aching need for it's companionship.
Even in the caves of prehistoric tribes, men who hunted great beasts at extreme risks, were easily felled by the hungry eyes of a woman. Love is the mightiest power of all, it can destroy hate, evil, war, and sorrow, with the simple uttering of three words, "I love you." Let us strive to unleash this power daily, in a world that knows too little of it's taste, sharing it's vast gifts and reaping it's rewards. We can be Angels of the morning, blessing the days and nights ahead with it's infinite warmth for all.