jack green (Chattanooga, Tennessee)
For those who never knew me.
The time has passed so swiftly.
The years seem a blur to my weary mind.
To those who know the history.
The truth is not a mystery.
The illusion silently withered on vine.
My days are short in number.
Gone are the days of summer.
Lost is my chance once young and so brave.
Taste not the fruit of sorrow.
Live now not for tomorrow.
A bitter seed harvest sprouts weeds on the grave.
Comments about this poem (Lost Chances by jack green )
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