Walking, the sun walks home beside for time bids him rest.
Tears neither for pain or joy
But that the soul be confused,
And wonders why mortal heart deceive.
Love has laid a snare,
The foot is stuck
The thoughts bring the chronicles of the heart
For it was a tradition not to eat love's apple.
Uncertainity, fear that man will gloat
Keeps the heart proud and regal
For to bend to Cupid is to be a slave
To dwell in seas of pleasure that drys with time.
Letting the breeze kiss the cheeks,
The rains caresses the spirit.
But the soul is lost in the wound of grief
That tears the heart with pains of choice
Choice of risk with Cupid's pleasure or pride.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Love rules the world if and only if thou unearthen it in its truest, purest form. Powerful imagery...yet founded on a legendary folly. it may be hard but love'll always find a way... kudos to a healing heart