What a lonely poet feels


Eternity, what a dream,
What an idea to comfort hearts.
Time is an illusion
Love then. Doubly so.
Eternity, serenity, beauty,
mind games of a encrazed lover.

Eternity is a game of poets,
romances that defy common feelings.
They whose whords are writen well
Money, not happiness, is their goal.
Born from dust to live in lust
A life of common solitude.

What of it then? This "amor" this faith
It lacks blood, flesh, and heat.
Ideas can not steal away
The wounds from our dying trust
In a world where one minute pleasure rules
Faith is a thing let to rot.

So innocents of heart and blind of love
What dreams may come now?
The Hellish creatures of the drenching dark
Rulde with a sceptor of fear and doubt,
Dare you to think the light of love can win?

You reply "love onquers all"
And I sit and listen.
"Darkness is but a moment,"
You argue, "the dawning day will win."
"Of course, my friend, of course."
My comforting voice lies.

"Yes time is but a dream,
To a broken heart there is no dawn
Thus the endless night in wollow wins-
Love you say? You've found true love?
I congragulate you then.
But alas true love found you?

I do not mean to strike your dream
that would be very wrong-
But open your eyes and you shall see
In this world, love does not belong.

-Olsen W. Potter-