When, if ever be, will I feel again
The divine inspiration channeled down
Heavens gift of treacherous love and pain
which languishes poets and mounts their frown

I’ve forgotten the touch of lips on lips
As mature and pure as the earth is old
And guilt of my blood from him it drips
Hold centuries of these stories untold

If it be, I never feel lips once more
Memories run through the earth in letters
I shall open these books, through them explore
Love and heart, through another man’s pleasures

Till then, I’ll read, and I’ll write, and I’ll weep
Easing emptiness with merciless sleep.