My heart has learned to break cold's shield
and eagerly throbs in its frost
to tell her of my care it yields,
unknowing that its beats are lost.
Her eyes shine in another's now
and any thought of me is gone.
She knows my wants and of my vow,
all that she has smiled upon.
To make her happy at all times
my lips cared to offer words known,
to make her my muse for these rhymes,
yet she confides in the unknown.
My devotion is bittersweet,
to think comfort would fill her heart
numbs me; the truth: it's obsolete;
It makes these words no longer art.
Further sadness knowing I'll wait
despite all these times cast away.
Till then I'll write these words I hate,
cursing love; it brings me decay.