Saturday, May 9, 2015


Sometimes I think I’m trapped,
Living my life
Over again
In all its worst phases,
As if I longed
For yet more grief and strife
And craved
Crusty old fashions and crazes.

Perhaps it is old age,
A depleted,
Poorly encrypted mind
That once bounced,
No, leapt with agility,
And tried and tried
To triumph from behind.

Maybe it is regret,
Guilt from neglect,
Flowers never bestowed,
Promises wrecked,
Happy houses now empty,
Blatant failure,
Foul disgrace,
Chopped and necked.

More than likely
It’s my discarded dreams,
Ghastly nightmares
That plague my pious nights,
And bid me swim again
In lukewarm streams
Of long ago
And far away love’s heights.

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