My sonnet’s echo: Lost in Time

Maybe I’m watching too many romantic dramas, but the biggest source of inspiration I have now are hardships in relationships -.-. I was writing a sonnet this morning, and this is a more complex version of it I put together from all the brainstorming ideas and scraps I had written down; it feels like a much more complete poem than the sonnet, even if it doesn’t follow the criteria.

Love, lost in time

The tale of us, when read, might just appal

Because, somehow, it’s turned into a scrawl

We’ve withered and decayed right to our core

I want it back: the tale afore it tore

But now I can’t recall it anymore

…What was even there, back then, before?

Please tell me, what is love, if this is all?

Adventure all but slowed down to a crawl

Of interest and charm there should be more

Inertia turned excitement to a bore

What first was fun and new is now a chore

I want a change to open a new door.

Moreover, what are we, if this is it?

We did have some good days I must admit;

But always shadowed by a sense of drag.

The voice in my head just won’t stop to nag.

I keep thinking more love will somehow spawn

But something of nothing cannot be drawn

To tears and fights relationships are prone

But ours more than any you’d have known

And slowly on me it’s starting to dawn

That hope for us may be forever gone

Still I can’t get myself to just let go

Maybe it’s better off, but I won’t know

I know something must give, this can’t go on;

Nothing will change unless you move a pawn.

But I’m afraid to do it on my own;

My courage maybe isn’t yet full grown.

Yet I can’t just will us to turn sublime:

For now, our love is somewhere lost in time.

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One thought on “My sonnet’s echo: Lost in Time

  1. These are two variations I had started to the first verse;

    The tale of us, when read, might just appal
    Because, somehow, it’s turned into a scrawl
    We’ve withered and decayed right to our core
    I want us back, but can’t remember more
    …What was even there, back then, before?

    The tale of us, when read, might just appal
    Because, somehow, it’s turned into a scrawl
    We’ve withered and decayed right to our core
    I can’t even recall there being more;
    …What was there at first, back then, before?

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