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Poem

What love is too fragile, that shatters without any notice.
If one is raged in time, never was there passion.
To so many birds happens frail edges in their nests,
but once lost are wingless, and do fall to rodents.
Pinned with swords to the walls that bleed their regret,
is what the impassioned experience, when they fail to grow.
Rather than deploy trials through stress, they breath what is.
Unressted heads beat steadily among those that seak most control.
Unless heads compete for control, for then, sacrifice proves passion.
Only to those that pursue engraved traces of fate, continue.
Balance life in an order that's prior to our motions,
helps the world of after shine better through Karma's tests.
Proving worth comes purely from passion, convincing death to except.
No one should ponder the life that's yet to come.

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