The unkind Lady

Heed my tongue, all ye that be sick of love.

Let me tell a tale,

A tale of the unkind Lady.

Her beauty so delightful, so enchanting, so devastating.

She is the sweetest dream, yet the harshest reality.

She will capture your heart, your every yearn -

And deliver them to the absolute nothingness;

That will ever remain.

Though happy ye might seem (at first),

Content in all ye have, euphorically yielding -

Only to loose oneself in the void.

The void of her, ravaging the quiet place.

Martyrdom succumbs to inanity,

As a simpleton shall ye be known if ye dare,

Dare to love her.

Be warned my fellow martyrs,

Do not fall under her spell,

Back and fro shall ye be tossed,

Between the land of the living and the dead.

All the while her memory: ever haunting, ever suffocating.

Hide thine heart, hide thine peace -

For nirvana, sometimes, be timeous to grasp.