Posted in creativity, depression, empath life, history, Personal, poetry

7/22: passing through

Brief moments.
Catch a glimpse of a
Memory.
Did that person really exist?
Why did I not ask that question?
Regret sits.
Waiting for me.
His finely tailored suit
With seams crisp.
Regret’s wingtip shoes
Tapping a familiar beat on the
Floor.
I know it, but can’t place the tune.
He waits for me to invite him in.
To wonder ‘what if I…’
So he can swoop in and weigh me down.
I know he is there.
I have fought him off many times before.
I am conscious of the damage he can inflict.
I wonder of things I will never learn of the answers.
I look to the past.
To learn.
To know whatever I am able to know.
I do not invite him in.
Nevertheless, he waits.
My door will never open for him.

~A

Advertisements

Author:

Creative Geek Of All Trades. Do you really need me to explain that one?