Poem: What can be?

What can be?

What is left
that can be
what it was 
meant to be,
what was wanted,
pursued, all that.
whatever words
there are to say it.
There is something
that was and it seems
gone, seems over,
seems lost, and that
is not fine or alright
or any good at all,
and I can't say
it is even true,
but I feel something,
don't you notice
or is it not a thing,
is just my own trick,
my deceptions,
another delusion
taken in the way
it can be taken.
I don't have answers
but it feels this way
and I am afraid.
I don't have
the strength
for such burdens,
not these days,
not after
what has come,
not when
the reasons
will be gone
too late.

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