Where is love, lost within itself,
blinded by agony, destroying oneself?
Lost dreams are simply stored away
when each pain is brighter than the previous day.
Isolation is the only praised thought
in a mind of hopeful envy so distraught.
Neglect insults loneliness with too great a splendor —
perhaps grief is wrong; maybe love won’t surrender.
As the heart is finished in all its unraveling,
hope sends in optimism, and sickly grief goes traveling.
The words that were spoken, and thoughts thought understood,
possibly were the roots of confusion — of pain, misunderstood.
Love is quickly reawakened and shown its surroundings,
and love’s original, exciting ecstasy returns, full-sounding.