In the soft eve’s hush, you hear a yearning bard,
Her heartstrings twined with intense longing for him, Who you ask?
By her sweet reticence, his soul silent and enshrined,
Whose gentle words and soft caress fell on deaf ears and a numb body.
She, the yearning poet, yearned for him to see his love for her.
She held to her chest a dandelion; a heart lay beneath as soft as a willow tree,
However, listen close, dear reader; beneath her pretty silence, torrents flowed,
She seems to be a wounded spirit, her loving screams, however, fell silent,
Lost in his paranoid haze, he hurt her, he really hurt her,
Crushed her blossoms he did, how pathetic.
Her unrequited passion sadly turned to dread,
That same crazy paranoia of his has now taken over her.
This story will twist and turn now, dear listener...
One fateful evening, with a tremble in her hands and tears flowing across her visage,
She sat and penned down an ocean, oh yes she did,
Accusing him of crimes unbeknownst to him, how sad isn’t it?
A demon created by her own mind, now held her at death’s door.
Her writing stained by her blood for ink, ‘tis a tragic plea,
By the time it reached his eyes, he was too late to show his love,
Guilt now drowned him, felt a tsunami as he stood helpless.
He is to be now forever haunted, the reticent poet now faced his end,
His silence now seems to be broken, his soul now lays painfully awake,
For in the advent of trying to find his voice, he forgot—he actually forgot her heart
—that gentle heart that the reticent poet had left to rot.
In the now quiet corners of his heart,
The yearning poet had played her part.
Verses he whispered in her ears in the night,
Echoed their beautiful love in the soft moonlight.
He wrote of his passion for her, fierce and pure,
A passion and love she thought would long endure.
Yet he failed. HE FAILED.
To see that silent plea of her yearning for him
In the long-gone eyes of the yearning her.
His smile was mysterious yet his heartstrings now lay torn,
He was a guarded soul, painful memories he quietly wore.
He now stood beside her closed grave, their souls still close yet so far,
He looks at her pale carcass, he looks to the sky and sees a distant, dimming, star.
My final words, please come closer dear listeners.
You have born witness to a twisted tale of love and death,
You have heard a final breath and seen a stolen soul.
In her darkened lines, his memory stays like a tattoo.
The reticent poet now hangs out of a building.
Well, this tale hath come to an end now,
I shall soon depart after leaving you with these words, dear listeners.
The reticent poet hangs out of a building,
The yearning poet hung deep in a grave.
His heart yearned for her camaraderie,
Yet he was blinded by the lights of lust and city life,
Passion-less poet he was turned into, only ink he found pride in,
Sworn to his pen and not his lover, she ended his facade.
He asked in pain before his death, "Lost Enigma of Love," would you still be mine?
Existing, merely existing, your memories sting me still at the back of my mind,
Hah! You both have ceased to exist,
As the price for a life lost has been at last fulfilled,
Dead, Done, and Dusted.
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