The Love of a Siren

A tragic woe I say,
to bleed a heart so warm,
taking love it doth form,
and tossing it away.

So often I hear the Siren’s call,
From ships I jump at haste,
ere I see beauties truer face,
to fall prey to beasts that maul.

And so, as it were, in melancholy,
joy now turns to tears,
trust now turns to fears,
as I find thin love is folly.

Perplexed are my thoughts and mind.
twas love I sought to chase,
offering only a genuine embrace,
but, instead, a ring of hell I find.

Why doth thee refuse to speak,
make known your childish themes,
those coy, distasteful schemes,
that leave my world so bleak.

No longer will waters drown me,
dragging down to the ocean floor
to eerie songs of death-galore,
For time will grant me free.

So behold, this heart will surely mend,
a slow, but moving restitution,
a long and glorious revolution,
at which mine love for thee will end.

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