The wish.

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The option, that would once be given,
It makes everything all the more complicated.
Every thing that we have ever wished for,
Then just becomes a commodity.
What is the true value to these feelings?
The one's that cloud over our mind,
And all we can think of is asking more,
All we can think of that can't be bought with time.
It a hilarious joke, if miracles would be true.
For all that we had ever wished for mattered .
Our feelings that changed with time and age,
Would then only be the cage for wishes, the prison.

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