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The Heart is Always Half Empty
If life is nothing but an elated song
 without being able to lie close to you
 there is no reason for me to sing along
 because none of my lyrics could ring true.
 Even if I speak with the voice of angels,
 without your love I clang but a cymbal
 that seeks to remind me only of hells, 
 blasts out lies in a tune shrillingly dull.
 Yet I see no more on the road I walk
 in search of the great prize known as your heart
 that hides from me in all our little talk
 of rubbing sticks, waiting for fire to start.
 But the more I poke and prod at embers
 I see there is no more love left that stirs.

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I wrote this because I couldn't write anything else. It's sonnet four of four that I wrote for class.