The poet's pain
Night, as created for the poet and his pain
Created for the verses, and lovers of lust
Unrequited love and treasure, that he could not gain,
His love is gone, there is only heart of rust;
His thoughts flying towards her in late silent hours,
Everything is peaceful and dead just like her voice
Dream closes his eyes, in the idyll of the flowers
Pain flows like a river, left him no choice
Now he sings of suffering, desire and wounds that destroy
Heart and soul, the life that flows without bounds;
Life that broke his heart like a toy.
Voice travels from the mountains like an echo resounds:
Why have you gone, leaving me alone with fear
Oh why, oh why did you leave me dear?
© 2014 Dream Lover