it explains itself
A mental backtrack to a point where the roads fork
Spectral shapes trod down one path, and one wishes with everything one has
That he could take the path that now dwindles in the periphery
Instead of now being trapped in this cold, leaking shed
Rain slinks between shattered boards, a spy in the darkness
Running down his neck as an icy snake
Tempting him with the apple he wishes he could have had before
The rope dangles off the edge, free and listless
The one he could not save lies at the foot of the slope
His eyes get foggy, then cloudy
A storm brews behind the lids, and lightning flashes behind the lashes
Regret tears at us all, irreverent of our public standing
With small or large claws, rending self-confidence to tattered sheets in the wind.
Would that we could soothe the beast with wisdom, rationale and resolve
Such things, however, do nothing to appease a creature of such emotional malefice
We are left, then, with no choice but to trod down the path our decisions clear for us
Hoping to see naught but flowers in our periphery
Not a skulking figure in the shadows of our past.
Poetry by Dominic
Read 841 times
Written on 2007-03-02 at 19:06
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Regret
I think it the most sickening of emotionsA mental backtrack to a point where the roads fork
Spectral shapes trod down one path, and one wishes with everything one has
That he could take the path that now dwindles in the periphery
Instead of now being trapped in this cold, leaking shed
Rain slinks between shattered boards, a spy in the darkness
Running down his neck as an icy snake
Tempting him with the apple he wishes he could have had before
The rope dangles off the edge, free and listless
The one he could not save lies at the foot of the slope
His eyes get foggy, then cloudy
A storm brews behind the lids, and lightning flashes behind the lashes
Regret tears at us all, irreverent of our public standing
With small or large claws, rending self-confidence to tattered sheets in the wind.
Would that we could soothe the beast with wisdom, rationale and resolve
Such things, however, do nothing to appease a creature of such emotional malefice
We are left, then, with no choice but to trod down the path our decisions clear for us
Hoping to see naught but flowers in our periphery
Not a skulking figure in the shadows of our past.
Poetry by Dominic
Read 841 times
Written on 2007-03-02 at 19:06
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text|
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