An ode for thee, lovelorn poets,
With tender hearts, tattered,
Torn asunder by those
Unworthy of your love;

Were you born from the bedrock
Of unrequited dreams, struck
Upon poetry's sweet kindling,
Alighting your inner lantern?

Or was your heart always so pure,
So unblemished, that no other
Could ever hope to find purchase
Upon its perfect form?

Alas, that poets must endure
The sorrows of love's envy,
With lanterns blazing brightly
Through the darkest nights.