Baronhawk's Nest

The beginnings of my motions
upon the poetic stage,
began long ago
in my youthful age.

But the stirrings of passion
within my mortal shards,
began but a while ago
with the breaking of my heart.

Amidst the chatterings
of friendly acquaintance,
In vain I tried
to gain her attention.

Until after a spell
of awful silence,
did she inquire
as to my intentions.

"Nothing and everything" I replied
leaving her question unanswered,
"ah, the poet speaks"
was the response she tendered.

Thus I lay my aching heart
delicately upon the line,
whispering to her ears
my tales of love sublime.

"I'm flattered" she replied
but to her I am just a friend,
I took it all in stride
but my heart will never ever mend.

In the well of my emotions
is a wound that disappoints,
the rejections of love
a pain that never ends.

I once heard of this
a tale told by friends,
"you must be hurt"
"before you can lift the writer's pen".