That which I cannot conceive, Cannot grant me temporary reprieve.
Temples alight with a raging fire, Within the object I most desire, I'll go through the deep mire
Beneath hue's of grey and red, An entity lies who cannot rest, Of second chances it's bereft.
The conceivement of an emotion so pure, The old self he now abhors.
He desires the thing which escapes him the most, Every moment fading when it's lost, His mind the unwitting host.
He is left in lonely oblivion, For a matter of the heart, That can be so complex yet ultimately so trivial.
A love never realized, For her, He would sire the gravest of lies.