Missed Call

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Missed, in the innocent hope of a return;
In the abyss of regret,
I burn;
We hence begin to learn
The unvalued worth
of love, of human life.

II
This Earth shall
never see your gentle face
again:
Smiling and laughing
despite your pain…

For a poet borrows birth
in misery’s depth.
A poet dies
of the suffering of
others,
A poet dies
in the knowing of
his life’s bitter-sweet
Love
for shadowed departure.

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