I Write of Fools and Pain

I knew no love

So I wrote about hate

I’ve fell no satisfaction

So I wrote about frustration

I knew no pleasure

So I wrote about anger

I knew no innocence

So I wrote about sin

I’ve lived no life

So write about death

I knew no Angel

So I wrote about demons

But one day Love was born

Was born on that sweet face.

I cupped the small Angel on my hands

How can they cause so much pleasure?

Satisfy as I’m, I could happily die

For I have love, and be loved back

How can I the find such happiness in such small person?

I still write about hate, death and demons

And still say as the grand Lord Byron said;

“Fools are my theme, let satire be my song“

And I’ll sing the dark song

And I’ll write the fool’s path

But you must know

That I know love

I know pleasure in life

Inocence

And I know not an Angel

But two

Blue eyes and round faces

With true smiles

And I’ll still write dark

Because dark is who I am