Heart, I have tried to kill your voice
that chugs along in silent pain.
Alone, forsaken, without a choice
while others drink champagne.
Onlooker, sucker, sap, and mother
your sweet naivete is all of these.
Do you still believe that love will conquer?
Feel the serpent's squeeze.
The heart of a dreamer is a dimly lit hope,
hanging like a shirt in the Summer's breeze
twisting there on eternity's rope
and left to freeze.
No, not now, but someday forever
my heart will quiet its quixotic song
of utopian romance, of a chivalrous contender
and allegiance gone wrong.
I lived to worship you
knowing all along
love is a vicissitude.
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