A Memory That Never Was

A third my age, you awoke in me the man half my age.
My cause was lost before it began.
My reason’s voice drowned in unheeded, hopeless pleas,
and I fell, stumbling deep into the pit of want.

In words more eloquent than I can pen,
I have loved and lost, and now I wait in melancholy agony
for the poet’s better,
which never comes.

So, go now about your two-thirds,
and leave this half-man be;
living a memory that never was.