You will never understand,
The meaning has gone from a specific three words,
You can't hear me anymore, no matter how loud I say it.
I don't feel your touch anymore or hear my name from your lips.
I don't remember your sweet, sweet scent because it's been just that long,
But sometimes I lie awake at night and I can hear you singing,
I smell that once delicate scent,
I feel the touch of your skin, and hope that I'll dream of you again;
Because you don't love me
Yet, still, I love you.
I remember 'the good old days' when our love has its way,
But things are different now
The poems I made are gone, you threw them absent from times grasp ,
Our time of love is done,
I suppose you have commanded it so and all I can do is sit in my strain filled sorrow.
The sorrow gets stronger because you're gone, forever.
I write this poem to you
This is what I want you to hear,
When I die, this has my last words for you that may ever mean anything.
You are my first love the only and truest one,
The only thing is that same is not reciprocated,
But I don't care about that, for I love you keen;
I'm just a man who's always here for you,
But if I die I leave these words from me, remember me.
For when I'm absent I'll be gone unaided and I can't go back and see in what manner you are.
So in these words from me, remember me.
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 1:17 PM UTC
You will never understand,
The meaning has gone from a specific three words,
You can't hear me anymore, no matter how loud I say it.
I don't feel your touch anymore or hear my name from your lips.
I don't remember your sweet, sweet scent because it's been just that long,
But sometimes I lie awake at night and I can hear you singing,
I smell that once delicate scent,
I feel the touch of your skin, and hope that I'll dream of you again;
Because you don't love me
Yet, still, I love you.
I remember 'the good old days' when our love has its way,
But things are different now
The poems I made are gone, you threw them absent from times grasp ,
Our time of love is done,
I suppose you have commanded it so and all I can do is sit in my strain filled sorrow.
The sorrow gets stronger because you're gone, forever.
I write this poem to you
This is what I want you to hear,
When I die, this has my last words for you that may ever mean anything.
You are my first love the only and truest one,
The only thing is that same is not reciprocated,
But I don't care about that, for I love you keen;
I'm just a man who's always here for you,
But if I die I leave these words from me, remember me.
For when I'm absent I'll be gone unaided and I can't go back and see in what manner you are.
So in these words from me, remember me.
Request permission to use this poem