Poem Time

Not with eyes of hope.

Nor with tears of joy.

Not with a heart of gold.

Just embracing cold.

 

An edge with high contrast.

Cradled like a newborn life.

The warmth inside; it feels.

As it moves to end a life.

 

A dream, that’s true.

What could have been.

It was not; I know not why.

All’s I know; I did not die.

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