The unending cycle of love, fear, hope and love.

What stays around and leaves,
Without a trace of peace
Holds the most hearts; my heart believes
A shred of honour and then, I cease
To be, the one mortified with ease.

Melancholia prevails, a quiddity unfathomable; strikes fear.

Fear -- a hammer-- strikes cold on hot rod; shapes
The anger, despicable,
Engraves the pain -- unbearable-- slaves
With labours -- unattainable.

And yet what leaves a mark - is hope.

Hope, lodestar for the sad of soul,
A jaunty sultan for the desolate vagabond
Answers the grievances of those who call
To raise the sun-- bring the dawn.

Hope --is satiety; exigent, is love.

Love -- Well, love is what stays around
And leaves.
And the cycle continues.