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// 20 - Not a Love Song (not a pair of sonnets) 
// Story: Ponyville & Other Poems 
// by AugieDog 
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Insipid words have tainted ev'ry breath
I've taken since this horn of mine appeared.
Among my strong dislikes with "fear" and "death,"
I place the song of love.  It's just so weird!
In fact, I'll break the sonnet's pattern now,
Inserting lines in ways it won't allow.
I've had my fill of sentiment, and how!

But love itself is vast and beautiful,
An inner, thrumming pulse that mitigates
The pain of life, that sparks the dutiful,
Contains the mad, and balances the fates.
It touches ponies softly, privately,
For good or ill and spreads my canopy,
Alive with love from sea to shining sea!

Ah, Shining...  How that pony won my heart!
Without a sappy sonnet, primly penned,
But unpretentious doggerel, his art
So plain and practical, the perfect friend.
For I am no award, am not a prize
Presented to a stallion's hungry eyes:
I rule the twin domains of truth and lies.

"The heart is fickle!"  "No, the heart is true!"
Denying both, I state the simple fact:
The heart's an organ pumping blood for you.
It's in the brain emotion gets unpacked.
The magic's all electrochemical,
Reactions never theoretical,
Intangible, or hypothetical.

Deception, honesty, both right and wrong,
I dance that thin and twisting razor blade
Between a couple's panting, wordless song
And wailing grief when one has been betrayed.
Complexity's too hard to sing about;
That's why this double not-a-sonnet's spout
Is whirling like a torrent spilling out.

I've seen it all but barely understand
The hundred billion ways that love can flow.
Believe me, though, that each of them is grand—
Or drenched in pain no other ponies know.
Romantic?  Sure.  Resigned, I guess, as well,
A horse upon an endless carousel:
The "ups" and "downs" don't tickle or repel.

We'll end with couplets.  Yes, we need a pair
To braid our double not-a-sonnet's hair
And tie a bow so sweet and debonair.
Enchanting; awful: love is both these things,
And I, of course, manipulate its strings.

Unduly harsh?  Perhaps.  But love's endured
The worst the world can give.  So rest assured:
Both suffering and joy get quickly blurred.
You claim your heart is broken or athrob?
I'm here to help.  Don't thank me: it's my job.