I find no peace, and all my war is done.
I fear and hope, I burn and freeze like ice,
I fly above the wind, yet can I not arise,
And naught I have, and all the world I sieze on.
That looseth nor locketh holdeth me in prison,
ANd holdeth me not, yet I 'scape newise;
Nor letteth me live nor die at my devise,
And yet of death it giveth me occasion.
Without eyen I see, and without tongue I plain;
I desire to parish, and yet I ask health;
I love another, and thus I hate myself;
I feed me in sorrow; and laugh in all my pain.
Likewise displeaseth me both death and life,
And my delight is cause of this strife.
-Sir Thomas Wyatt the Elder
broke it down and now i appreciate it. poetry is a beautiful thing once you understand.