The ripples of flesh twist and distort,
The coveting mind wallowing in despair
Finds the empty petals flowering their floor.
The bouquet tossed down in anger,
As the dream leaves in another’s arms.

The writhing hair upon thy brow,
The sweet honeyed sweat dripping down,
Now bitter to the taste, as once before
When baited breath saw the object of desire,
And bloomed a wealth of ages in thine heart,
The memory shatters in thy palms.

O’ Lamenting lover, from distant shores,
The time of languish has placed
Its hands on your shoulders.
Boulders of agony raise their stony fists
And cry for injustices done.

O’ sorrow plague! Melancholy’s temple
Awaits your worried step. Her drapery’s fine,
Wine as joy illusioned. Bring your hopes and
Toss them to Her bed of suffering and doubt,
And that object that you tortured for will
Continue on in the Happiness that you so
Ardently lack, in your erected temple
Of Failures.

But worry not O’ lost one!
The path to Joy will not stray from you!
She will find your shaking hand,
And guide you to her brethren Happiness,
But how many months and years will it take,
For you to see,
The path stretched out before you,
O’ Languish Lover?

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