By: April Mae M. Berza 

I buried Cupid’s arrows
in my dreams and awoke
thirsty of fires and desires.
When I drank an ocean,
zephyr sings a heavy dirge
to reconcile the fears
with my tears slowly battling
like soldiers fighting for
life. There is no sadness
that could bare a soul
other than the misfortunes
of a heart, a dying heart.