An Ode to Sorrow. A poem by D. Lovegrove.

Bear in mind that this was written at around half two in the morning and composed off the back of alcoholic depression, it was never going to be my best work. I apologise most heartily for the poor quality of the second and third stanzas but it's not complete without them.

All These Things

Sweet poisonous nectar of life,

Softly stabbing heart-bound knife,

Silent proclamation, invisible fire,

Frozen pain of unquenched heart's desire,

All these things love is, and more,

Lost in heady fantasy of what only could have been,

Found despairing, lamenting the intangibility of the dream,

Eyes fixed upon the stars, gazing for a sign from above,

And all the time rejoicing in the exquisite pain of love,

All these things the lover is, and more

Home, as safe as castles built on sand,

Disturbing territory, distant foreign land,

First thought of the day, last fretful dream at night,

Relief from life lived in darkness with terrible blinding light,

All these things the beloved is, and more.