Is it painful to convey your art,
or is it artful to convey your pain?
Does the torment carry the weight of a thousand suns,
when the love of words slowly but surely drains?
As the heart is healed the poetry departs.
Poets' pens left straining in their hands.
But it's ok, in Love we are all One.
Let's melt into the heavens and flee this barren land.