Tampered Mémoire
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Not all nostalgia is remarkable.
Being someone who lives in the past.
And you can't finally turn our table,
Like how it used to be at last.
When the mirrors we decorated for years,
Broke into pieces in just a minute.
You can't pay me for wasted tears,
I'm the lost wanderer's spirit.
As the windows of mémoire open up,
I saw the light come from a scarlet heart.
Leave; don't tell me not,
It's not as sweet as a cherry tart.
The house we played for ransom.
Is just an illusion of what disaster can do?
To a guy who fell into wrath's come,
But I wouldn't end up with you.
Lost in translation, lost in temper,
And I can reset my mind.
But isn't it sweet or sour?
Just a lover seeing love as blind.
YOU ARE READING
Cornelia Street
PoetryThrough sonnets inspired by Shakespeare, I finally reveal the intimate secrets I've kept hidden for so long, even though I'm afraid no one will hear them. They capture the anguish of unspoken emotions I've never been able to say out loud, hoping for...
