When i see such love consumed by foe of all vowed hears such in me then may die. For was it not love that then beheld my life adrift. One feeble soul bound from that love then to be scowered such as this. So be then death of love in turn makes death of one in which it does depend. I myself am this that breaths the life of love. Such was I but am no more. A soul of head be then so staged for head of valued heart does cause the veins to pulse. but head to be then not at perch sends blood to soiled earth and leaves this mass in which it once did dwell to welt beneath the sun a lifeless coat of skin and bones of which I call my grave.<br /><br />William Douglas Rodenberg<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sorrow-born-from-that-of-life/
