The heart, loves to conceal,
Truth, lips long to reveal,
Eyes worship and plead,
The mind, hates when they feel.

And now with its confession,
The body is arrested by love,
Its sentence, sleepless nights,
Its hell unforgiving of,
One dreamer’s lofty heights.

The penalty, an unquenchable thirst,
A warehouse of doubt and suspicion,
The heartache of thinking the worst,
When silence toys with emotion.

But the heart does not seem to learn,
Though rationale berates,
That surrender has its consequence,
Which love cannot escape.
For there’s nothing poetic in having to fall,
There’s no subsequent glory, in losing it all.

For though love is a gift, and new it may be,
Novelty steals its appeal, progressively.
When the madness subsides and the thrill wanes,
Love is but conflicting sensations of pleasures and pains.