The Poverty Of Love Poem by Pensive Phoenix

Let us confess that we loved one another,
And mourn not our trouble
As daughter and mother.
I had but loved you once,
Enough to claim a place in my heart.
But the fruits from these blossoms
Were neither mine nor yours.
I could never have touched them,
Despite the yearn of my palm.
I gazed them like fire,
Like the storm of our calm.

But you will never see
And will think love, is the poison of me.
A molten face unfazed by hate.
Cursed by what cannot be changed,
An unmoving fate that cries to be
Burning love, my sole poverty.