TheMourningDove



Woe is his heart, which longs for love.
He receives nothing but pain,
For all that he does.
Cold are his eyes,
Though his heart hides
Compassion and love.
Behold, he is a Mourning Dove.

Sickly are the sounds that grace his ears,
No soft whispers to comfort his tears.
When in doubt,
He runs away.
Only from his feelings
Does he go astray.
Tenderness is what he is denied
And pulled away from.
Behold, he is a Mourning Dove.


He flies away to find himself,
Only in vain,
For the only way he finds himself
Is in other's pain.
He flies away again
To find a roost for the night...
Contemplating his next flight.
'Should there be more pain?' he wonders.
'Or should I end it now?' he ponders.
The questions soon cease
As all he can do is fall asleep,
Only to wake the next morning
And once again long for love.
Behold, he is a Mourning Dove.