Here's one I just randomly wrote.
In moments of wistful reflection,
When one thinks of loves that could have been,
My thoughts often turn to this family of mine,
Turned shadows, echos of minds once so keen.
They (in another life) would have been your healers,
Some would have read law,
Others would have been artists-
Had they not shut-out the colors they saw.
I count myself among them,
A tragedy of youth misspent.
Lives handed over to a fantasy,
of this I do truly repent.