Poet of pain

As in a wicked dream, to you, it may seem,
that my kind are foolishly drawn to despair,
powerless to remedy a frail lover's plight,
it becomes a hated curse that is hard to bear.
.
but mighty as I might seem, I am feeble now,
I am forced by destiny to witness agony anew
and my words that sought beauty in every sight,
write into sentences how to survive without you.
.
So, I most now commence at the precise end,
her memory exists now only by virtue of my pen
as letters become words within sentences of regret,
for her faithful love, I will become the poet of pain.
.
Ink flows from gloomy tears in my endless nights,
in which the fire consumes thousands of candles.
My poems are not written but with the blood,
emanating from the wounds of my absolute sadness.
.
Not a stanza, a poem or a book is enough for this
not a million words of love for one sweet kiss
my desperate muse can not capture true bliss,
to shout aloud that she is the one that I miss.
.
I know that her pure essence has taken flight,
please don't judge me as my soul is dying too
it shall be forever buried there in the dark night
Because in her, I knew a love that was true.
.
Hermestri
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Most = Must line 9. Sorry for the typo