A Poem

To the world in which we dwell,
From the day when living man fell
To the hour when four horses prance
There is one thing that stood a chance.
No war could break it
Disease could not take it.
Men put their hearts on the line
To help it stand the tests of time.
But here I stand depraved and deprived
of the one thing that keeps us alive.
A child frolics in front of me
Onlooking parents stand guilt free.
So I must ask, Is it not my turn?
My flame is out as other's burn.
I've had a chance to feel such bliss
I've felt his touch and his kiss.
Now,He, in London. I, in France.
Will there be another chance?
If it is no, I shall surely die.
All for Naught? O woe O Fie!
Curse you time and curse you space.
Curse you distance and curse this place.
Curse the moon and the stars above
For denying me a thing called love.