What Could Have Been Will Never Be


What Could Have Been Will Never Be
I am entitled to some happiness,
To love and be loved,
To fill up my life with joy,
To be touched and have my skin tingling with anticipation,
But I am empty and have no peace,
My eyes are dry and I cannot cry,
My heart is ice even when my blood is hot,
I bleed and cry silently but only to myself,
Who built these walls that keep me in?
I am tied with steel bands,
And cut apart by words and imaginary daggers,
Left to my own devices I die by degrees,
Enclosed by ice, yes, it will suffice,
But, oh, to die by flame and on my lips a name,
Of a lover with passion burning,
And in my heart a terrible yearning,
That the heat from my lover’s desire,
Would send my flames higher and higher,
I could die from that heat with a smile,
For I would know that I died from love’s flame,
Rather than have ice to blame,
So how do I ignite this cold, cold heart,
That locks the flame without and the ice within?
How do I find the secret to some happiness?
Do I search or do I wait for it to come to me?
In my confusion I fear the worst,
I think of love as a balloon already burst,
And I am looking upward for something that is not there,
While that broken balloon is trampled beneath my feet,
Love, trapped beneath the ice is but a dream,
Of what could have been but will never be.

2 thoughts on “What Could Have Been Will Never Be

  1. Your love . . . my love . . . is in the longing, the yearning to be with . . . Our “Beloved,” in anyway, shape of form you make the Beloved out to be . . .

    michael j
    Conshohocken, PA USA

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