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Description
Flawed are we, our flaws we oft fail to see
But if any flaw is worst amongst the lot
It is the flaw of one's Inconstant Heart.

For this daemon so coy often unknowingly toys
With those held in its sway, and like the moon
It waxes and wanes the longer come the days...

And full it starts, this fickle Inconstant Heart
Which wraps its honeyed fingers sweetly betwixt
Thine tremulous breast, but later slowly wanes
And grows more dim leaving the trusting only wrest!

Which begs cause for attention why
Love is something so sweetly cherished
Yet so quickly does it putrefy?

For when one grows too fond and falls to deep
The Inconstant Heart will then count the slights
Seeing no more goodness, languishing in spite

Perhaps our hearts are fickle and trusted it cannot be
For only momentarily is fascination present, later gone
Away, leaving only flaws and unnumbered scarcities.

O Inconstant Heart and thy fickle caprice
Blinded by the safety of thine slave's loyalty
Thou doth spurn and stab so well, damning a martyred
Heart to an undeserved sojourn into Hell!

How now then the ebb and flow of thy malicious tides
When gone is the love thou'st blindly cast aside?
Where run thy empty shell and bleeding heart
Save in the regretful pining as ye weep raggedly in the dark?

Someday for thy inconstancy and obstinacy thou shalt be left
Cold, alone, bitter, tearful and bereft. And then only will you learn
Love once spurned turns bitter and thus dies, leaving thee phantoms---

Mere memories of now immaterial sweetness which in thy foolishness
Thou hast lost; in cold evenings, empty mornings, for warmth shall you yearn
Longing for the pardon of a love which thou hast rashly spurned.

Description
Flawed are we, our flaws we oft fail to see
But if any flaw is worst amongst the lot
It is the flaw of one's Inconstant Heart.

For this daemon so coy often unknowingly toys
With those held in its sway, and like the moon
It waxes and wanes the longer come the days...

And full it starts, this fickle Inconstant Heart
Which wraps its honeyed fingers sweetly betwixt
Thine tremulous breast, but later slowly wanes
And grows more dim leaving the trusting only wrest!

Which begs cause for attention why
Love is something so sweetly cherished
Yet so quickly does it putrefy?

For when one grows too fond and falls to deep
The Inconstant Heart will then count the slights
Seeing no more goodness, languishing in spite

Perhaps our hearts are fickle and trusted it cannot be
For only momentarily is fascination present, later gone
Away, leaving only flaws and unnumbered scarcities.

O Inconstant Heart and thy fickle caprice
Blinded by the safety of thine slave's loyalty
Thou doth spurn and stab so well, damning a martyred
Heart to an undeserved sojourn into Hell!

How now then the ebb and flow of thy malicious tides
When gone is the love thou'st blindly cast aside?
Where run thy empty shell and bleeding heart
Save in the regretful pining as ye weep raggedly in the dark?

Someday for thy inconstancy and obstinacy thou shalt be left
Cold, alone, bitter, tearful and bereft. And then only will you learn
Love once spurned turns bitter and thus dies, leaving thee phantoms---

Mere memories of now immaterial sweetness which in thy foolishness
Thou hast lost; in cold evenings, empty mornings, for warmth shall you yearn
Longing for the pardon of a love which thou hast rashly spurned.