And what in this cruel world is wickeder than love?
With its fiendish teeth sunk into its prey it injects a poison called happiness
And one can assume that it is pleasant for the time being but oh how it bites!
Joy shatters and what lies behind it is the black velvet drape that is despair.
Nothing pains us more, neither death, nor wounds of the flesh, nor affliction of the body
But the insufferable , unbearable stab to the heart that is love’s loss.
It leaves us utterly broken and yet completely whole.
Love is a fool’s game but in that time, a happy fool I was.
The scars of the heart make it hold together more heartily though it heals ever so slowly.
I will be willingly ensnared by this wicked love once more and I hope that once caught it will consume me completely.

I wish I could steal your sorrow
To make it moot and fill what's hollow
I wish I could heal those deep gashes
That left you broken into pieces

With a joy that could melt sadness
And peace to calm a raging anger
With health to make you whole again
And love that lasts forever

But my bleeding heart will not heal yours
Neither does my sorrow, Lessen that which you hold

See how I feel by how I love you
Take my kindness, Take My peace
Take my love and my joy
And my feelings will mirror yours
As they do even now

My heart is a caged bird wings clipped long ago
It sings in its gold spun cage of something I know not of
It flutters and ***** from time to time
And then tries to find some peace and remember,
When it was free to fly where it chose

Spin the story eyes all alight, only echoes of ideas splash upon the page.
Insights become enigmas as they pour from your brain onto the sheet,
Your wildest thoughts become dull and dry even to yourself.
A husk of a vision lay before you. A lukewarm expression of your burning sentiment.
Others put beauty in words to transform into vision, into sound, into experience.
How much more magical was it before the whitewashed dulled down medium they used.
The sheet that robs you of spark and blots everything to black and white
Those coal black words can create color for some but my love of them is equal
Only to my frustration in not being able to paint upon minds with them.