There is little of you left, here.
photographic memories, once flourished with colour and vibrance,
have now faded into victorian dark ages,
time has turned past love, into myth and legend.
I cannot remember your voice,
you spoke words as if they were your own and only yours,
now you are just silent in my head,
I cannot picture nor hear you.
I love you, dearly,
It does not matter what has been forgotten,
only what has still remained.
Yes, I am desperate for rememberance,
for a link to my forever forgotten past.
I curse myself, over and over,
how could I forget all that I have loved?
I cling onto crumbs now,
yet I eat like a king.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem