Oh, where is it I begin?
As if to say something never said before,
Of puppy love, of grievous sin,
of something said that shouldn't have been,
And yet, I take the quill
To try and ease my ills
As if to clarify what I willed,
What my hasty message should have bore,
Instead of lie-filled sinful lore
For the dreaming one, they know not
Of what it is their words have wrought
The kind of pain that love has brought,
But nay, not love, for She is fleeting,
Tis but a figment of the dreamer's mind;

And though for it her heart's beating,
And "I love you" is but a greeting,
But when this illusion unwinds,
The thorns of "Love" is all it taught
So easy to say goodbye,
When this fool's idea is thought...
"Goodbye" is never thought of.
Just two words said every day,
Sometimes unwillingly, sometimes profane
In love, said but too often
in love,
It's said so many ways;

A kiss, a smile, a wounding pain,
Goodbye.
So casual, yet it moves some to tears,
Inducing lovers' thoughts with fear,
So soon the burden lifted,
So soon the dream is crushed,
But with three words the world had shifted
These three words all but too rushed
These words, when written, make one blush,
But are yet so offensive
As more rushed than teases, thoughts profane
That lead to things more expensive;

These three words bring such disdain
As if to scare the master away,
"A willing beast of burden?" he howls,
"It is a freak of earth, I say!"
And he leads her to the slaughter, scowls,
With one last look
His head he shook
An end not found in sinful lore;

Out of her, her heart he tore.
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Penned by my hand on the 18th of Miraman, in the year 414 AF.