I love you and yet love you not.
Clasped to me you are my anchor,
With distance found, soon forgot,
Sweet nothings now turned to rancor.
I cannot say what makes me so,
A broken heart turned monster,
Fickle fancies soon to go
The way of the impostor.

Love's fertile fields too soon turned fallow
The unloved self's ardor is cruelly hollow.

Not mine

One night to be confused
One night to speed up truth
We had a promise made
Four hands and then away
Both under influence
We had divine sense
To know what to say
Mind is a razorblade

To call for hands of above to lean on
Wouldn't be good enough for me, no

One night of magic rush
The start - a simple touch
One night to push and scream
And then relief
Ten days of perfect tunes
The colors red and blue
We had a promise made
We were in love

To call for hands of above to lean on
Wouldn't be good enough for me, no
To call for hands of above to lean on
Wouldn't be good enough for me, oh

And you, you knew the hand of a devil
And you kept us awake with wolves teeth
Sharing different heartbeats in one night

To call for hands of above to lean on
Wouldn't be good enough for me, no
To call for hands of above to lean on
Wouldn't be good enough for me, oh

Sonnet #1

I love sonnets. I love the structure, though I'm never sure if I have it right.

Stupid iambic pentameter. *shakes fists*

Poems, public made, are a private lie,
A gross display of falsest invention,
The buzzard's caw masked as the songbird's cry,
An idle turned with hollow intention
False words turn'd into honeyed bait,
Crafted cunning to catch the broken heart,
Leave untrue wordsmiths to their fate,
And hope that soon the serpents will depart,
But, lo, my sweet verse is meant to render,
The burden of the love I cannot hide,
And thus are my words true and tender,
Shap'd crudely, wrought without thought of pride,
Your love and your trust, I would fain abuse
For you are both my solace and my muse.