Craftsmen of Ruin

Blood or soul,

in matters of relationships, people no longer count these.

The love one human shows another today,

is nothing but self-interest.

They know it well,

the more pain a man endures, the more ruined he becomes.

And so, those craftsmen of ruin know exactly how to carve pain with care.

I'm a discarded letter,

sent to someone who cast me away unread.

And thus I became a lost letter,

when found by another, I was torn apart,

deemed unnecessary.

I know you will not return.

Still, on the very path where you bade me farewell,

my eyes remain fixed.

For should you ever, by mistake,

wander down this way again,

that day, I will gather you back to me.

With time, the value of all things in this world rises.

But the worth of the gentle, the calm and the kind-hearted,

which alone keeps falling.