Wasted potential

Squandered and sold.

Solace is Hunger.

Hunger is Gold.

Gold is a prize

Holding no worth

Only in my eyes

Will I know this Earth.

This barren belief

Of what could have been

Is tangled with bias

Intrinsic in sin.

Po - ten - ti - a - li - ty

Loiters and keeps

Ways from reality

Distant and deep.

Here is my Prize:

What wept from my eyes

Is truth at its core.

Who else could devise

A vision so sore?

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