It could have been great
But it did not live long enough to be born
It could have been had
Yet, the path that had been chosen, tore apart
It could have been the beginning or the end
Maybe, but it wound never be the middle
A hand touches the skin, tracing the past
But it can't go back to what has not existed
What is the point in seeking the "what could have been"
It's there unbuilt, unthought, within
An eye glimpses a spark of light
Yet it does not mean that one has truly seen
Why assume the unassuming "what could have been"
It's manifested by it's own existence, unseen, unforeseen
A mouth whispers a word
By uttering it, it ruined its essence. A word now deformed
How dare you spoil the "what could have been"
Let it be there preserved, unspoken, reserved divine
The "What could have been"