I miss you like the dreams a parent must
have entertained through pregnancy for one
whose days have not begun their counted run
on earth, whose life is mystery and chance
and possibilities unended— but
aborted, stillborn, lost and unfulfilled—
I miss you like a love I haven’t met
and never will, for which I’ve hoped and yet
I’ve not believed existed. Love, as billed
for cinematic myth, as frame-life cut
and spliced for profit, is – I think – perchance
a miscarriage of truth— although the One
such promises for me I trust like sun
light —but I miss you simply, solely, just.
I miss you
I miss you
"Every genuinely religious person is a heretic, and therefore a revolutionary" -- GBShaw
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