Love... I cannot say,
Whether it's hurt or disarray,
These lasting moments
Speak of obligatory opponents,
None of which I can see, nor hear,
In the quaking calm of our love's disappear.
It is now, out of ever,
I have opportunity over endeavour,
To seek the question
Of your intention;
Bleed condescension
Out of all dejection.
For this delightful expenditure,
I only speak out of danger
And simple thought out
Of a concerning doubt,
That of every self-inflicted rejection;
Of me, what was your expectation...
-4/9/2010-
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Love the amazing shifts in wording! Always intrigued and impressed by your writing style, keep up the great work!