How the sweet poet would feel bitter,
To see love take second place to lust
And so she cringes as she feels she must,
Knowing her fault is worse than she dare utter.

She has betrayed the beauty of love,
So long cherished and fervently worshipped,
By believers and poets; scorned and hated;
For a beauty not designed by those above.

Beauty of body and not soul enamored her,
And she forgot the cult, to which she swore
Oaths beyond blood, family, pride or honor.
She gave all away for a passionate blur.

The golden eyes of her desire dissipated,
Sooner than she could've ever dreamed;
And now she finds herself broken-hearted,
Crying alone for having love betrayed.

But soon she rises up again, a mad shine
In her silver eyes, and she wants more,
Soon forgetting all she believed in before,
The poet forsakes love for lust divine.