In the realm of penned emotions,
a poet's quill unfurls,
As he etches love's tale,
my senses it swirls.
He fell, enraptured,
in love's intricate dance,
A woman let go, a forlorn romance.
A poet at heart, his verses a mirror,
Reflecting love's loss, a silent quiver.
With ink and parchment,
he bared his soul,
Longing for a love
that chose to stroll.
In poetic hues,
he painted his pain,
No hatred words,
just love's refrain.
He embraced hurt,
though wounded inside,
A paradox of love,
a turbulent tide.
"How can love be both
cruel and forgiving?"
I wondered,
as his verses kept living.
Determined to heal,
he thanked the depart,
Yet, beneath the surface,
froze his heart.
Deceiving himself
with gratitude's guise,
As love's remnants
lingered in silent cries.
A hobby, his poetry,
a captivating art,
It gripped my heart,
a poetic start.
In youth,
I witnessed Romeo and Juliet's plight,
A love so fierce,
at such a tender height.
Juliet, a mere thirteen,
love's flame ignited,
Romeo, age lost, passion unabated.
Shakespeare's words, a poetic spell,
Enchanting a girl, tales of love that swell.
Fifteen, uncertain of love's grand design,
In the verses of the poet, a connection, a sign.
Wishing for Shakespeare's
wisdom to implore,
Inquiries about love,
its essence and more.
As Jack sacrificed in the
frozen sea's embrace,
A love tragedy unfolded,
leaving an empty space.
Rose, like the poet,
left by love's decree,
Different tales,
a shared agony.
Oh, the questions for Shakespeare,
if alive,
About love's intricacies,
how it can thrive.
In the symphony of tales,
where love takes its toll,
The poet's words echo,
an eternal scroll.
