Unborn Love

No greater pain than unborn love.
For there deserted laid a dove.
Solitary, left for shame.
Love denied it's wretched frame.

Lost for words, as light beheld,
the corpse of that dove left unshelled.
Snow white feathers, stained with blood,
torn apart as one rosebud.

Farther yet our souls did search.
For why that dove had left it's perch.
But no outer wound was found,
where it laid dead on the ground.

Question why this dove did die?
None shall know from naked eye.
Deep within the answers lay.
To the heart we must display.

There you'll find a broken soul.
Once so large, now shattered whole.
There you'll find no heart to love.
Just the form of one dead dove.

Copyright © 2005 Nobody

-The worst kind of love, is the kind that is never had.