Tender love, lost,
lost in time,
lost in translation,
lost with little hope
of ever being recovered.
Memories, all that remains
of what was and could have been...
Age, fading these memories
as the sands of time
fall through our brittle fingers.
Hatred, pain and loathing,
Hatred for letting ourselves get hurt,
Pain from the searing depression
That fills us like a box or razors,
loathing for not trying harder.
Hope, hoping that she finds happiness,
hoping she thinks about you fondly,
hoping that your dreams don't fade,
hope that your tender love,
your love lost in time, in translation,
isn't completely hopelessly lost.
Comments about this poem (Love lost? by James Bateman )
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