She Temps Me Poem by Saint Cynosure

She temps me in a hollow way,
a way not yet rejoiced.
I suffer in this silence chose,
for I am not her choice.
Broken seems beyond repair,
a flower grown in dark.
Never to be gazed upon,
forbiddingly so stark.
This hurt will pass from me someday,
this truth not known to self.
For love shall surely look my way,
yet just from someone else.
Another love of unknown choice,
a face has yet not shown.
She temps me in a hollow way,
a way myselfs not known.