The last time we met I said
that I will see you again and I meant it.
I, a defeated soldier will walk with an empty gun and a radio in a war
for as long as the song reminds me of lost love, your feet stepping out of the door
The mean gravity of love, sticks us to the ground when we are meant to fly, merry go round the moon.
I wish hopeless Romance could live in a world outside your favourite song but it will die in our fists because I am 21 and scared I never open my fists even as you hold them
It will die and the world shall write a song about it
Our children will sing that song,
And like silver blade it will cut their tongues
The song of hopeless love
It will cut th--eir words
Make them a victim of speaking through music and poetry
I do not wish to speak through music and poetry
I wish to speak
They will lose their words, their voice, their gun, they will close their fists and write letters that’ll never reach the mailbox.
The end of the world will be a lover waiting by the door, watering the hope growing in the fist for years only to die in the hands of fate.
My nana, a victim of his own memory
Did not get to say Goodbye to the woman he loved my nani
Amnesia saved him from waiting by the door,
He met her eventually in the world of ever after but after how long, how late.