Nor is not mov'd with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils."
~ Lorenzo from Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice (V, i, 83-85)
El Arte del Amor
Friday, August 14, 2009Love, that poisoned arrow that the playful cherub aims
At the most unwilling victims void of emotion
- Love kills.
Yet people are willing to trade their souls
For this sensation, for the elation that the poison brings.
Love, like beauty, is a violent process
Of elimination: Every detail is meticulously
Picked, and every characteristic criticized;
Every feature is chipped off, one by one, until
The masterpiece is left.
But where, in this masterpiece, is the Heart?
Yet people consciously choose to undergo
This mutilating process, this suffering,
To succumb to the poisoned arrow freely.
People are willing to let their selfishness be exterminated
By that serum - that love - with which Cupid affects.
When the heart is all that remains
Of Love’s sculpture, of Love’s masterpiece -
When the remaining composition of the person
Is eliminated in the process -
Does this not make Love a selfish entity,
Undeniably similar in nature
To its most willing victims?
Where, then, is the true Heart of all-consuming Love?
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