The heart is desperate
Desperation incarnate
Compassionate and passionate, it has it's place
But it seeks love with blind eyes
It's reasoning lost without a trace
Lost in the dark it fumbles
Listening intently for a kind word
Love me, love me, it mumbles
Touch me, touch me, it heard
Alone it cries out to the mind for comfort
Even just for a distant memory of a love once had
It drains the soul with effort
And its fantasies can drive you mad
Nothing on earth is more desperate than the heart
A wild psychopath that appears mild until it tears apart
'Want' itself, is its desire
An endless consumption like a blazing fire
And like a blaze, it's soon out of all control
And on the soul, it takes a mighty toll
For a broken heart, who can console?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem