ART OF LOVE
When the scribe breaks the hallowed pact
To tread in the way of arts disallowed path
When his heart is lost in the words of his own art
And his soul lust after the works of his art’s act
As He falls off the bridge of caution
Into the waters of his own fiction
He drowns deep in the pool of his art’s diction
Oh what sheets can bear this controversial caption?
His art lust after its object of inspiration
So much his heart is lost in its path of desperation
But of what meaning does his art make this description
When at last the wall will fade with the whole inscription
Of what essence is the fiction in our heart?
When we still live in the loneliness of art
What magic does the diction of our art?
When we still live in the solitude of heart