Untitled
Created vision or divided void
In what imaginings can these be filled
Abundant cup, once teeming; yet, how devoid
Barren soul, once shining; now trodden grains are willed
I can see the vacant crying eyes
I feel the sunken heart
I hear the thought; once smug and wise
Once sweetened cakes of passion... prove now- bitter tarts
Each night, upon the bed, in isolation he lays
With grasping hand in a tattered velvet glove
Each day a comfortless and desolate craze
Reaching for the incessant thought of love
