I write these poems that no one reads
They are the outlet that I need.
This world would make the most fiery romantic doubt 
And forces the happiest optimist to pout.
I cling to my verse against the storms of the age
At least some sincerity will be preserved in this page.
It is the floating bark
That saves my broken heart
From those who have done it harm 
And against them I am armed.
In my loss I will not lose hope
As long as I can rhyme, I cope.