The longing drives a wooden stake,
Into my heart, every time I wake.
Can’t hear, can’t see and cannot speak,
I know I’m strong, why do I feel so weak?
A crippling feeling, quite addicting,
Makes you cry, then makes you sing.
So long my friend, so long dear foe,
I am flying high, then hanging low.
Famous pleasure, far and near,
Might fill you up with joy or fear.
For centuries this sweet crusade,
Has made you sleep in the bed you made.
It tears you up and breaks you down,
You want to smile, but can only frown.
The emotion tragic, so intense,
The burden sometimes just immense.
It often does lack rhyme and reason,
Giving up just feels like treason.
But sometimes the object of your desire,
Makes your insides burn like fire.
Weeping does not help, time’s your best bet,
Let go of the person you once met.
It might stop the bleeding, leave but a scar,
If you beat a retreat, covered in feathers and tar.