Pain

Man clutches at his heart with an empty fist --
  finding nothing to remove, nothing to replace --
while the pain of it burns him like a dying ember,
  trapped and immovable in the center of his chest.

In the hope of love, he lives on --
  hope of peace, hope of rest, hope of stillness.
He hopes until wet tears bring the taste of salt to his mouth;
  and yet still, there is nothing but that salt to console him.

Farewell, to the fading sunset:
  not in this life will I find relief,
but in the next, where all things wonderful that could not be
  find expression in ways we never dreamed of.