The Oldest of the heart .

Some days the smell of must eludes me in a time,  and every word I long to speak won't silicate a rhyme,

I fall short of joyous occasion,  I find nothing in my breath, the furthest from heaven 
But a likeness to a death,

How long can my mind be willing to explain,  the sorrows that I've felt for love, and all the wretched pain,

Could time be apart of this, would it leave me empty and numb 
Numbered by the star's above ?

Forever seems the longest of time
And the words define my part
Etched amongst the poets of age
And the oldest of the heart.