No Chance
No chance, so died the seed
of love in germination, and did
not grow to be,
failed and withered on the vine;
my aching heart must bleed
of spectral laceration, and bid
the tears fall free
for what was almost mine.
No chance to say goodbye,
only rapid termination, and plough
my essence deep,
furrows burning cold and dead;
for who or what I cry
had a life by implication, and now
the dreams of sleep
are all I have to hold instead.
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