How do you measure love, when hearts are broken?
How do you come to terms with things that matter?
In less than the time it takes to hold a breath
Or feel the wind upon your face
The day is gone
And your passion for all that is love, has broken down
In little pieces
And taking something positive from all that's lost
Becomes a jealous rage of Love's intent
And yet that rage possesses all your thoughts
But keeps the stillness in your head from scarring tissue
You cry and yet you morph into some cavern
That is home
To your soul.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I found that cavern and I am not leaving