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 the cycle continues.