It is now we are forced to reckon with ourselves more, As we try to return and enter again each door. But alas a heart can barely take, Rejected quotas of another one's state. The burning irons hasten, To ones icy glazing stare. This the repeated motion, Ending in failed flair. What more can a fool offer to those of intellectual fair? I have digressed almost every notion, To which this mind compares. Of springtime and summer moons, Heart-filled seasons with lazy afternoons. Is not love here and gone too soon? A special place in one one can belong, At times only ending. In sweet bitternesses song.