Pain sears my soul,
Knowing that another holds you dear,
And though it is not my intention to dethrone him,
I cannot lie of my love for you.
You may call me fickle,
Whimsically using such a word,
But how best to describe the wretch knowing of his touch,
Upon your heart where I would have my own.
Folly this is I know,
Expecting validation of matching emotions,
But were I not to speak of the raging passion within me,
Then it would surly and ultimately consume me.