It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
Shakespeare, in Othello.
Images of pure water hang coyly in the air -
thirstily you seek it out while knowing truth is rare.
Crawling on your hands and knees, your skin is badly scraped
as the untold dream eludes you - with your spirit it escaped.
Prancing through your darkest hour are bursts of grief and shame -
sharp pinpricks of sad defeat call out to you by name.
The agony of near success burns accusingly and still
as it mocks you most intensely at the weakness of your will.
Gain for a moment is even worse than loss -
regret, remorse, tears and pain are evermore your cross.
The bliss of surging ecstasy fades coldly in the night
as you remember painfully what joy was in your sight.