YEE

Just the rantings of delusional lunatic who thinks he can write poetry.

YEE

My heart, filled with fear;

Never again, away I steer.

Not to know, is not to hurt;

Nonetheless, it follows alert,

Of Him from on high,

To Her who’s only shy.

To You that ever was so kind;

Of me, from love, made blind.

Of Him, He responds so little;

Too busy to care for such spittle.

I only wish to hear His voice;

Wishing only, to approve my choice.

To Her, I find no equal;

To You, another sequel.

The hope I have may be a ploy,

To hope, to seek of coming Joy.

To You, the love I had;

For You, only a fad.

If love is ever to be renewed,

What use will it bring, but bitter feud?

Of me I find but one call,

Only to walk, only to fall.

The gains I only wish to retrieve,

Happiness is not one to achieve.

Author's Note

Give me your all, this is anonymous so it will be difficult for me to hunt you down.