Person of Sorrow
Part 1

What chap is this which follows thee?
Is he looking to prune thy heart?
He can share all wealth and magic,
And in sorrow and pain not take part.
I shall curse thee, and give my sadness,
To the dark one that avoids the night.
It might be a sin to give up thy soul,
Thy worry nay, non-sinner’s virtue rights.
But let it be those who understand
Thy own heart cast the first stone,
For no man can know thy own heart
When over time the soul is left alone.


And pray tell how does thee like it?
The feeling of denying thy own heart.
Enjoy the bitterness of the treachery,
That the mind plays from the start.
Think about the lost innocence,
That shall never be welcomed back.
And you shall see the reason thy fall,
Fall upon thy knees, as all turns black
For I have constant sorrow upon me,
Brought upon by the ache and pain,
As thy heart’s grace falls along my soul,
Until the Lord is sure thy heart not vain.


Have thee enjoyed thy jealous rage,
That has been placed upon thee?
Do thee like the twisting of thy heart,
When the mind shatters the plea,
Never to let the true feeling be known.
It’s better to die, then live with sorrow,
And the souls constant pain of heart
That stays upon each tomorrow.



Shadow of Sorrow
Part 2

It is true that I wish to prune thy heart,
For thou has let it fall to waste,
I take thee soul and am glad of it.
To be genuine in love one must taste,
The pain and sorrow that rolls inward,
Upon the rejection of all lost.
But the beauty love relinquishes,
When traveling from borne cross,
Is beyond all measures of pain,
Giving immortality to joyous love,
A perpetual bliss befalls thy soul,
Yet, Oh! How thee cried to above.


Never seeing the wondrous gifts,
Of warmth and heavenly delight,
Nor the peace that falls upon thee
In the eternal night’s celestial light.
Have thou never felt the wistful guidance,
Of the shooting star that pierces thy night.
Knowing that upon the heavens wish,
Peace shall be born from thy plight.
Nor shall the brain rule thy heart,
For love is the power thy heart needs,
To survive the pain and constant sorrow,
To beat jealous contempt thy brain breeds.


Without the tender touch of hopeful love,
There is no life to bring the passion home,
Allowing the soul to collapse into the spiraling
Vast wastelands for all eternity to roam.
Is it better to die, with warm tears,
Falling slowly from thy eye?
Or to die without knowing such wealth,
As the reason thy tear should fall?