A sonnet based on a Finnish pop song

[billy]

I'll preface this by saying a lot of the ideas and words are drawn from a Finnish pop song by a great artist, Jenni Vartianen. I am in no way claiming this as my original idea! Here's the song, with translated lyrics: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rKIdNPuN2B4 But anyways, here's my first attempt at poetry in months.

Edit 2:
From what I’ve seen and heard, love is worse
than burning war’s ungoverned battlefield;
I know by heart its lasting, ragged curse,
its scars that seasons’ changes haven’t healed.
And if I war to keep you as my own,
and losing, fail to hold you in your rage,
would I fail? Would I be lonely, thrown
out of paradise, or—out of a cage?
A cage indeed, when Eden slowly turns
into the land of death, and all that grows
there is the thought that everything at last,
by God’s revenge or nature’s need, returns
to dust. Can love, when fading passion shows
it’s yellowed leaves, not wilt into the past?

Edit 1:
From what I’ve seen and heard, love is worse
than burning war’s ungoverned battlefield;
I know by heart its lasting, ragged curse,
its scars that seasons’ changings haven’t healed.
And if I war to keep you as my own,
and losing, fail you in the clamor’s rage,
would I fail? When two are lonely thrown
out of paradise, or… out of a cage?
Is it a cage, when Eden slowly turns
into a land of death, and all that grows
there is the thought that everything at last,
by God’s revenge or nature’s need, returns
to dust? Can love, when Life’s Tree shows
it’s yellowed leaves, not fall into the past?



From what I’ve heard and seen, love is worse
than burning war’s ungoverned battlefield.
I know by heart its lasting, ragged curse,
its scars that seasons’ changings haven’t healed.
And if I war to keep you as my own,
and losing, fail you in the clamor’s rage,
would I fail? When two are lonely thrown
out of paradise, or… out of a cage?
     Is it a cage, when Eden slowly turns
     into a land of dead-end paths, and all that grows
     there is the thought that everything at last,
     by God’s revenge or nature’s need, returns
     to dust? Can love, when its soul flows,
     forget the bitter channels of the past?