We live in a land where the footprints of ghosts linger,

Where memories are grenades at the tips of our fingers.

His hollow heart cries and hers has gone cold,

Their time is all up, their future was sold.

He dresses her down and she makes his hate up,

Their love was far off but their loathing close up.

Perhaps in a better world they could have gone on,

Were she not an ox and he not a moron.

But instead they must part, for now and forever,

Their love shrivels and dies, once taut now it’s severed.

But it cannot be buried or lost or renewed,

Instead it must linger, as ghosts often do.

A reflection in water, a whisper of wind,

There, but not really, an oath we rescind.

Love lives or dies as all people must,

But lost love’s not lost, just trampled to dust.

It stays with us always, whether we want it or not,

To flourish and bloom or to wither and rot.