Poetry poureth from the depths of my Soul,
Like Lethe burneth avec brimstoned coal.
To burn with Hope I shall always aspire,
Higher and higher, alit like Dido's funeral pyre.
While Aeneas, I am not, Trojan Wars I've fought;
Defending my Heart like Troy, all for nought.
Like Priam, my Love was slain on an altar,
Yet I shall fight til death like Heroic Hector.
And nectar I sought, yet the sting I received;
Please delight my senses once more, though deceived,
Forsooth, I knoweth I shall always be...
Drowning in Faux Love's illusory reverie.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It is so beautifully inscribed on love and depression. I quote...... And nectar I sought, yet the sting I received; Please delight my senses once more, though deceived, Forsooth, I knoweth I shall always be... Drowning in Faux Love's illusory reverie. Thanks for sharing.