A portrait of the pain:
   Endless time and sorrow in the soul
            Evoked. The arid vein
   Of blood that wanders wax and wane.
  
           Aimless feet and eyes
     Pursuing air, in breathless love,
          Seeing not of aching lies
     Of longing hearts that now reprise.

           As arrows, seeking not the mark,
            nor the pleasure or the pain
           instead the hour when we embark
    to discover love in vain.