Passion

Passion Passion's born a wormy moon Laying waste our good intent... As desire brings forth a foolery Where we rile in love's torment. As novelty stokes our zeal And the impetus seems well-meant... It quickly dies a pauper's death As familiarity breeds contempt. If familiarity brings the winter... Driving passion to its knees. The fault is ours... and ours alone As we forget what's soon to be. Affairs of Men The affairs of men dim evermore... Morose they seem to be. Buffeted by the winds of fate And mediocrity.