Few are the times Love knocked at my door,
     but they've all escaped my memory;
No enchanting poems stirred in my core --
No grand tributes to Love's mystery

But when despair extinguishes hope's flame,
     what salient words drip from my pen;
It's then that my heart, wounded and lame,
     unveils its poetic acumen

Is this why misery commands free rein ---
     just to appease Fate's poetic lust?
The tyranny of anguish and pain
     gives hesitant verse that final ******

Try to visualize agony pent
     in the depths of a desolate heart;
Now sketch the face of that vile torment . . .
Soon the pain becomes a work of art

Too often deceitful hearts will lure
     trusting hearts, blinding them with false love;
Great is the anguish they must endure . . .
     but it's the poems that I'm thinking of!

Passion-filled verses mix and combine
     like the paints in a grand masterpiece
     when the shattered heart tries to confine
     rage and bitterness seeking release
    
And yet, Love that survives Fate's brutal shove ---
The fortress that refuses to fall ---
Those words that proclaim undying love
     become the grandest poems of all!