IX - 1997 - Attempt At Sonnet

It has destroyed countless of millions,
And corrupted innumerable thousands.
Dreaded at times by the bravest lion,
It never rests to its untimely end.
Like an eagle which soars through the air,
It is as free as an innocent bird.
With the gift to make fair, foul and foul fair,
It can bring forth great bliss or sad morbid.
With its limitless powers to seduce,
It gives all a chance to feel or kneel,
But when it tries to induce and produce,
All maliciousness and toils will be healed.
Cruel as a fiend, gentle as a dove,
It is the thing by which we call it…love.