Ernest fell in love
A woman older than he
Love did not bind them
Woman left Ernest
For another man...
The pen became Ernest's accomplice
Woman left her, he loved her so
Ernest never stopped
Writing, writing, writing
Pouring his heart
Soul bleeding as it became the pen's ink
Ernest was dying... he still loved her.
Ernest wrote not for remarks
But for the love left unsung
Wrote to avenge the pain
Inflicted by the only woman he loved
He wrote with his pen in blood
But it wasn't enough....
Ernest words were never enough
They didn't comfort the heart that decomposed.....
Ernest never wanted to live
Love was too much to conquer
Words were never the answer
And he took his own life
To put an end to his story
With the only woman he loved....
And he never knew the woman had always loved him...