.

words, words, words..

once i had a gift,

make love out of words;

now taken in a drift

drift, let's call him love

no words a poet could write

so as no peace could bring a dove;

like a fight without any might

it cripples my hand

so as the ripple of my thought

it gives no demand, none, neither demand;

the riddle of love put it all in slaught

go, curse Cupid,

go, curse the doubt

either way it's stupid

for love from nowhere it sprout

mornings of glory

and shadows of the moon;

there is no greater story

than you, finding me so soon

my speech has been taken,

my pen has been broken;

hell knows how i love you,

heaven knows that it's true

i curse you and for that,

curse me, for this one is true;

curse the bold poet,

that is truly out of hue