A Poem to Love

How the love pangs burn holes in the heart
to love and conceal one's love
better to hate, and hate bitterly
than to love and love sweetly
oh those wringing thuds that strike the heart
when the loved one returns not love
the jealous heart is like cancer
it burns
it eats the soul away
the tense moments of passion
drowned with indecision and unresolve
one extreme quickly transforms itself
hate gently disposes love
the lover is like a starved lion
enraged with food placed outside its reach
how cruel
how cruel
this pang of love
if one could cut the potion of the heart
that loves
liberate the body
from its torture.

          (to be continued)
                  April 7, 1965