Every person has a vile enemy to overcome,
It may be a person, or even a book to some.
But for myself, alas, it is but a feeling,
Of the tearing of one's heart as well as its' resealing.

I strive to love, yet not to yield,
I dive in headstrong, but not without a shield.
A sword in my hand, pointed to thee,
But unknowingly, an arrow flies towards me.

It hits its' mark, strong and true,
And I fall, weakened, and clouds wave as I pass through.
Blinded now, I reach for thy hand,
A chuckle is heard, and my fist closes around sand.

Sly is the tactic thou hast used to elude me once more,
But I, a damsel, remained oblivious as the seams of my heart were torn.
I continue to fall, but then I reached the end,
And I could only wish that I had resumed falling again.

The bottom had been sharp, and it pierced me through,
My eyes, my chest... and oh, the screams it had ensued!
Never before had I experienced such agony,
I suppose then, that this is why love was- no, is a tragedy.

As my eyelids flutter close, tears escaped them one last time,
I lay impaled, love's greatest tragedy's prime.
I had known that this was the end of my conquest of love,
And I wished that no one would take this path for it was severely undeserved.