The Poet

The many states of human hearts, are so hard to explain.
From the burning bright of passion, to the darkness of our pain.
Yet try again the poet will, to pen the trials of,
A human heart in sorrow low, or out in search of love.
So the work is never done, the toil incomplete,
For the unremitting poet, who has taken on this feat.
Writing day, and writing night, continuing the quest,
To find the words that capture, what only hearts express.