She Lives And She Dies Poem by Leon Agnew

She lives and she dies
But what else matters?
What drives the eye to the heart,
The heart to the mind,
And the mind to thought?
Lust
Each thought the rooster takes
And in lust perverses.
But how can lust be so clean?
It cannot be, being a sin,
And sin is vile in all cultures.
Love
There is no love in this.
Love is reciprocal - so some say
But can we define it?
Are we too limited for such thought?
Am I too limited to see beyond this?
Obession
Third in my triptych, it is
Least known - but most hated.
Lust and love converge and overflow;
It cannot be so, but it is.
How else can it be?
There is no though, no sight,
Of no like mind are we.
Then what fosters it?
Nothing at all, only this:
She lives, she dies, and we are equal.