• Love,
    You must know how I loathe you!
    How I hate every poem about you!
    How I hate every last, flat line written by some smitten slob over you!

    Love,
    You are too much unworthy of my time!
    Too below a person of my sense and dignity
    Too cliché and superficial for my tastes!

    So, love,
    Give your bittersweet taste to the tongues of other's
    And not to myself
    Or if not
    Give it to the one to whom I feel your self

    For all I have mocked you,
    And for all I have hated that made to pay homage,
    Do you take revenge on me?

    Am I the only one to fall into you?
    Why could you not make the other do it, too?
    If you could convince me so, surely,
    The other you could make, too.

    Love,
    I am turned a convert,
    But too late!
    And hope speaks onto my soul,
    That repentance perhaps shall win me favor

    Love,
    I must tell you how I hate!
    How I loathe it!
    I despise every song, lyric, and page that tells it!
    That one can love, but not the other!

    Love,
    You are too unfair for me!
    Too much of a burden for me to carry alone,
    Yet you deem it must be!
    You are so much that it fills me with sorrow!

    Love,
    Truly too much are you that I must wish you away!
    Yes! With slightly impaired senses, do I banish you, forever, from my door!

    Yet! Love,
    You remain!
    You stand unmovable by me,
    But you are weathered ragged and dead by the world!

    Love,
    I don't grieve your passing.
    I grieved you enough while you were among the living!
    You are gone!
    And I need not mourn you any longer!

    Youth,
    Many praises onto you!
    For you told me while I grieved,
    That one day,
    What died unrequited,
    Will be born once more
    A love, two-sided.