This particular soul
Doomed to endure eternal love

This particular soul
Cursed by the mourning dove

This particular soul,
Wretches under the spell

“BIND IT , WOVE IT !” , They screamed
Poor entity
Bedevilled by such enchantments

And so,

The spirit shivered , raw to much affection,
So it seeped ,
Like cushioned paint oozing from the tin

So then,

Strings of passion , fondness yearned out of the shell
Clinging onto ,
Partial Juliet’s  
For much love is too much to bear
Alone
Wherein the entity feared most

Therein ,

The soul shared love openly
Why may you ask?
The fear of loving one so intensely
Would leave him alone , broken and densely

So it makes sense to the broken wreck ,
To fraction his emotion
As the fears of loving oneself,
And another,
Whole heartedly ,

May crush this particular soul