They say the best of all is love,
much better than those other drugs
But what of he who feels it not
and wonders if his soul is shot?
He wonders is there’s something wrong
that deafens him to sweeter songs.
He wonders if it’s all in him,
if he’s too coarse for pleasant things.
He wonders if its all in her,
would not then red pills be preferred?
But all he knows is that he lacks
the closeness that his fellows grasp.
Perhaps this is the worst of all,
to never rise, much less to fall.