“The worst fault you have is to be in love.”

The Bard himself

Knows my plight

My heart has betrayed me

And given its loyalty to love again

It aches to be held

To be nourished

by the promises it has

Yet to find fulfilled-

Instead only to be left the void

But still it holds fast to hope

Infallible hope for a love

That will engulf the soul-

Love- the kind that has been
written about for centuries

By poets and philosophers

Love that feeds the soul

Not for one lifetime-

But for centuries

“Oh that the gods have  cursed

my heart by making me poetical-

Why could they not make me honest?”

For honesty would remember the heartbreak

From my innocent trust

In mortal, heathen men.

And it would not so freely

Open wide for a man

To have his way.

Yet here we are again

On the Precipice

Of something so bold

And beautiful- and so dangerous  

 I open my  heart again

Vulnerable and free

Longing for

love’s next tragedy.