poems of the hurt king

The beauty of love can not be described and expressed in words, but it all begins with a sense conveyed by the eye. When the sense has arrived what to say. It's the heart that feels it.
O heart. Thou art the king of all these parts of the body, if thou hast wounded all the other members shall be hurt.
Who always thinks always a heart that is always blamed. Though the heart is not guilty.
Be careful with the heart so that one day no one will get hurt.