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.
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