Somewhere along the way
we became lost
within the colloquial and formalities
of the hearts native tongue.

A brooding distance
of miscommunication
birthed no mans land
where utopia once flourished.

With your silver tongue
I am beseeched of bravery
to sow our seeds
for a blooming harvest once more.

But I am a woman
at the mercy of a winters cry
and I cannot promise you
the fruitful sunshine.

I know not how to show you
the storms on the sea
when your roots in the earth
rely upon the rain.

Somewhere along the way
we became lost in translation
no longer privy to but foreigners
of a language of love.

With your silver tongue
I am beseeched of affirmation
that love may still conquer
while lost in translation.

But I am a woman
at the mercy of a man
and I cannot promise you
anything but my tempestuous love.