What We Learn in the Great College Street of Knowledge
The worst conclusion to a crimson bout
Of love is truth. We sniff the smell of facts
And they are ugly mumbles. With his snout
The poet gets the scent. His heart reacts
Like pack hounds to the trail a cognac fox
……….
Lays down and frenzy is the only choice.
Romantic love turns out to be a pox
That leaves its scabs on man’s poetic voice.
A slap directed at the face and heart
Is what we suffer when we live to see
Realities. We tried to slice apart
With knives our love from actuality,
But poverty in imaginations
Reduces passions to paltry rations.