I suppose I might have hoped
That we would bloom from nothing
Like a phoenix does from ash;
Wild imagination
Might be to blame, or perhaps
A heart- a flaming heart, filled
Of dreams that you encompass;
False memories of laughter,
Embraces, adventure, love...
I hoped for what I believed
But like a phoenix, such thought
Could only be true in dreams;
There is not much magic left
In the dimming eyes of Earth,
But if any is to spare,
Spare me the pain of letting
*Go.