Hopelessly romantic is the poet
With his visions and prayers
always love his goal
elevated above all else
the primary value of humanity
the great equalizer of man
so he sits in his study
writing tender verse
of his muse so pure
Untils she breaks him
crushes his own will
and he wakes up
aware of the world
and he looks for his familiar comfort
this muse of his hope
Love it was called
but now it's gone
Vanished from reality
upon asking, no one has heard of it
besides that old myth
of the poet
his muse
and a magical study

And I was the poet... Goodbye love A splenderous concept you were.

 
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