Not all is as it ever was
Not all thinks as it ever does
While poems may be spoken
The words contained turn out broken
While the spirits seem to be bold
The body lies dreary and cold
As it sits, covered in frost
Its soul forever lost
Carrier vacant

She once loved a poet
A couple lifetimes ago,
In a time where the rhyme
Kept her in the flow.

And to the enchanting poet,
The rose didn't smell as sweet
As his first glances at her;
The seraphs couldn't compete.

He was the poem written on her heart,
The love only found in dreams.
She was bound and determined to have him
By any ways and means.

As fate would have it, they had each other.
Their love intensified by his magic,
His use of word and rhyme,
Slowly turned from romantic to tragic.

Because there is nothing magical about love,
It's really a matter of the heart.
Just because you can write on love
It doesn't mean that's who you are.

Love tears at flesh and shatters souls
yet still we seek it's sweet unending agony.

"They only burn themselves to reach Paradise"
                                       - Mne. Nhu

original courage is good,
motivation be ******,
and if you say they are trained
to feel no pain,
are they
guarenteed this?
is it still not possible
to die for somebody else?

you sophisticates
who lay back and
make statements of explanation,
I have seen the red rose burning
and this means more.