When the love of many grows cold
The end is near.
Then true love surpasses gold,
When we have befriended fear.


Love is no longer; yes, love is not.
Though it still exists
It is but a revered thought,
Only a mist amiss…a wish.


How dear the bliss we crave
When love is lost and pain embraces;
How dare we leave the distant cave
When life is harsh and filled with faces.


How sparingly the kiss we save
For a dream that seems to run infinite races.


Love once breathed but now the breath is silenced;
Stilled, to be unheard and felt nevermore,
Stifled by lust, pride and passionate violence,
Still, we crawl the Earth in search of paramour.


The wailing cries of lonely hearts echo through the night,
To be consoled only by a breeze of wind,
And enraptured by flight,
Returning empty to the heart, and chilling the soul within.


Robbing pillows of sleep,
And causing willows to weep.


We all walk with an awkward quiver;
We all talk hostile, bitter.
You may doubt but your soul will shiver,
When you learn that love has grown as cold as winter.


Forget all if you will but remember this, my dear,
When the love of many grows cold…the end is near.