Showing posts with label regret. Show all posts
Showing posts with label regret. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Especially Sunday




You! You! You-you! You!
A broken chorus on display
Amidst a beautiful charade

If I might put on a skin so bold
To find, to whom this honor’s owed?

Fait accompli; Pas de deux
Tell me why the world spins so, and
     Why it keeps on spinning through?

You! You! You-you! You!
You-You! You! You-You!

Encroach upon my pinion
Gnawing me deeply to the core

You! You! You-You! You!

Deciphered my vault’s code
Implanting thoughts I’d never known

You! You! You-You! You!


…said we could only ever be and nothing more
Than that of friends, than that of friends
Yet still, even now I can remember, your inspiring assent,

That nod from heaven, even now I can so vividly recall,
 How easily came the words to which I spoke: a last gasp toward a future not meant to be, a brilliant summation draped in a suffocating plea
                  “The best there ever was, the best there’ll ever be”,

oh how we could have had it all, how we could have had it all

You! You! You-You! You!

…Held back a secret; you kept inside the truth
You ignored the passion within; you stifled the premise of that kiss
You made me then a promise; a vow rendered mute
You betrayed both our tomorrows, denying hope it’s chance for bliss

Plodding forwards the day would lose its coherence.  Motion atrophied in conjecture, suspended by the murky visions depressions cast

Disabling freedoms left me there to beg upon a staring sky, one that left me starving—emaciated and prepared to die

Many mirrors would then find me wondering. I bottomed out yet would be left forever replaying the many why’s and how’s lost amidst an ethos I’ve found to be paper-thin. Yet still, even in the here and now, as I gaze unto oblivion, try, I must continue, to cultivate honesty from time’s dust—ever bending for a primer to steer me clear this jaded scowl I regretfully still trust.

You! You! You-you! You!
You-You! You! You-You!
Every day and Sunday
                       Sunday especially

Weeks became the hours
Hours defined the day
And the seasons soon to follow
Would eviscerate the humanity found in me

You! You! You-you! You!
You-You! You! You-You!

         Tattered, torn, bruised and worn,
                  A wall was built; a wall was formed
But break it would, it would break
         As yet, you possess me still completely; you’re imprinted upon my every waking state

I was left there to find forgiveness within a shackled skin, bound to tortuous freedom, I knew not what I would find in likelihoods and manners.  All probabilities and potential withered awry in the daft discoloration of a destiny denied.

From points untethered, clustered yet non-sequential, and beneath the bellows of the banshees, as they wailed their laments aroused, remained alone, self-perpetuating comforts left to find therein: of misery and sin, misery and sin
        
And here, the last of the tread’s been worn,
 To the spot and to the core,
                       Porcelain tears upon love’s blacktop,
A prelude and continuance of a hoar unstopped

You! You! You-you! You!
You-You! You! You-You!
Every day and Sunday
                       Sunday especially

You held back a garden
     Because of the potential direction
              A single seed could bring              
    
You let the dim lights darken
One by one you turned them off
before the power would be lost
     before the power would be lost

and each year upon this hour
     your regret blooms in full display
where what-could-have-been in you towers
              On this, a silver-lining day


Stop on over to D’Verse, where Natasha’s been up all throughout the night, serving up some great poetics for this week’s Open Link Night.  I may be a day late, but certainly not a buck short. Cheers.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

8 Stages of Regret



I.  Cabinetry
An immobilizing strength plumbed within
Temples left, scarred and alone

Preservation devised a means to push, an
Imbalanced shelter for a defenseless front

Partitioned walls once deemed out of place
Have since become the only blueprints ever drawn

Interred within these assimilated cells, cage doors
Conceal the lost-not-found

And it’s only through the sheer chance of occasion; the hinges may swell and sing their voiceless tilts, shedding skin through the suffocated creaks entombed

II. Thesauri
So violent in the vagueness
In which consent first came undone
So vague in the violence
In which definitions first formed to tongue

The stillness of the songs etch, impressed upon
a hollowed heart—procuring a beauty—persisting
through the unconscious’ paining path of plight

Contusions stir to surface, clogging lines of flow,
Where curiosity catches a fevered glimpse and forever forward is impelled to know, what lies buried, beneath the indulgent purity of snow

III. Breaketh The Dam
Your voice says one thing
     But the eyes dictate contrasting truths
Your words are crafted toward recovery
     Yet innuendo simply spells out an angst swelled deep

Your tone quivers in subservience, yet impotence is a flurry never shown
                       Your outlines cast impressive angles, only to
Eclipse each thought betrayed inside
                                                           Your reassurances are calculated in their candor, yet errors appear as one’s amassing loss
                                    And if such loss rests sightless to the day, the night shall forever forage upon the schematics of those repressions cloistered deep
                           And eventually the levees shall break inside, flooding forth all things unknowing, elucidating every painful stamp left unsorted yet stacked in place

IV. Frozen Posture
Tension bristles the embryonic morn, prickling the cote with metallic shards of veil in scorn, collapsible dignity unfeigns before you here, chastising all memories as broken periods of circumstance—as having been built be demonic scribes and bards fictitiously flirting with the pangs within, damage, repeal, stain and scar

Curtailing truncation’s brutal lop,
A memory, fragmenting forth,
Beckoning penance for sins that
Devoured innocence

You seek forgiveness, yet the soul is untainted, never sullied was this will you own,
                  But fault lines need reparations, cracks random once, breed lengths aligned intent to swallow whole
                                                                        And you cannot forget what was never known,
 Remaining focused, solely upon the broken scabs, remnants that both betrayed and glued, joining together flesh and soul,
         Understanding there’s more here than even you could have known…

V.  What If
What if’s begin to flourish….and wonder you shall, persisting quizzically in such preponderances, refreshing, what image would appear anew
 The shine of the mirror’s gaze reminds what once was and how but that person now, is known, to have been but an effigy, a cursed twin, some Angel once took pity in

VI. Denial in a Time of Advancing Schema
It truly is remarkable, how far you’ve come since misfortune’s kiss shown through the prism’s glass
                                                      You forge forward without delay, yet one must wonder when the stalling shall impede, this admirable advance through such tumults and misplaced apostrophe

                                                                                          You admonish those with good intents, to cease their pity, for its not their love you’re searching for
                                    You chastise the resolute, for not even you yourself entirely remember every nuance of the painful truth
                                                                                            Your resolution is astounding, and yet such pride may be, just the food from which stagnation feeds
                                    There shall come a point where address this all you must, for if not now then when
                                                      You claim all is well, yet ignore we can’t as ire’s rise their flames at those that care; where arrhythmia distorts truth’s gait, emanating unrest in each the shattered pieces that remain left as whole

VII. Betrayals, Buried in the Garden of Time
There are so many things that can and will be said. There are secrets buried that never shall be revealed.  A pain like this is one that will gnaw and feast.  It is not something that can be tossed aside. Pretending that only by paying credence will you draw out it’s worst offense, is nothing but regrettable to the watchful eye.  And still, one can hardly blame one to become engulfed in such a betraying return to one’s true self…in fact, I can think of nothing else…the one you thought you knew is no longer living, instead they are replaced by some vulnerable wretch plagued by the remembered pasts ruins realigned.

And I, the one who has loved you all along, feel I have played my part in this betraying song.  Out of love I allowed the education of others to sway my inactions.  I left you as they remade you from your very ashes; I let you grow as some alternate version of who you are, yet, I did this out of love alone. 

But if I would’ve known that wall would break and that dam would crack, I’d have eased you along, slowly matriculating you back into a world that no longer is the safest place.

Yet it should be known, you are not the only one to suffer.  Certainly our pain is not comparable to what you must feel, but nonetheless it is so very much real.

I, for one, and I will only speak of the pain I known now.  I will not discuss the hurt that lived when you remained in that state of ignorance, no, I will not detail that time, for it is gone, it’s forever gone away. 

The here and now, is far worse than ever could I have imagined it to be.  For, when you arose from your slumber, you could not, and have trouble still, looking at me as you’ve always done.  There is, you claim, a resemblance between your villain and the image I portray.  I’ve changed my size, shape, hair and face, but somehow, that betrayer you see in me.

VIII. A Coda, A code
And what, you, follower of this regrettable tale, may ask, what happened to this villainous man, the one responsible for disrupting this woman’s peace and calm?

                                    This, is something I dared not dwell upon, but the question is begged, and therefore, I must appease…I feel guilty

For I knew she must face her attacker, they say it’s a step toward resolving that within…but
                                    I heard he was leaving. Only I knew it was he that committed such actions…For, if I never dallied as I had, I would’ve been where you’d expected me that day, and if I had been, none of this damage would’ve happened as it has.   Many have claimed that if I were a mere moment later than I was, she wouldn’t have survived. 

They mean well, yet I, as you do now, know better.  But I did espy, this demon.  I saw exactly who he was.  At first I knew not his name, but it was not difficult to uncover.  This, was all information I withheld, a secret only I held close.

So, such a day was forced upon me.  A decision had to be made.  It was a decision that could’ve gone in several ways.  I could have reported this man to the police, but he would have been released, this, I shall not delve further into, but this, I do know.  I could’ve tracked his future, keeping tabs for such a day as is now, where she could confront him for his crimes, and offer whatever justice she deemed fine.  But I could not bear watching him escape.  I couldn’t sleep knowing what luxuries his wealth could provide him elsewhere, while the one I loved is but a shell, a clone of who she once was.  This was not justice, no, not just at all. 

So I chose the path that such situations often come down to.  I cornered him and he knew.  He offered me the world, if close my eyes I would, allowing him to leave, to go away for good.  But this was much too kind.  And I did what I felt I had to do.  But to detail what took place those 72 hours, would be too graphic and cruel.  And so, I alone took away my love’s chance at confrontation…and this, while the revenge was sweet, it was not the feeling I felt it should’ve been, and now I cringe telling you about how I have behaved.

Now, it is I, and I alone, who seeks and prays, for an irrational sense of forgiveness to somehow cease the beat of such a painful malady.  But in truth, it is only you, I wish to see me as once you had.

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

The Extinguished Revival of the Contemporary Arsonist





It’s not what takes place at the birth and
death of every hour, but instead, what symmetries are provided upon the thirties— dividing lines of power

Amidst a veil of tragedy,
an encapsulating entity reveals itself
to be, a personality of untapped
potentiality, a reason for forbearance, a reason
to atone what’s been lost by disdainful blows

Amidst the reaches of escape,
to which our tragedies often follow flow,
we can enunciate the possibility of rendering
useless, through the daunting effects they often play

No longer must we wallow in our pitiful seas of
sweat and fear.  No longer is it necessary to dream alone in black and grey.  Now exposed, a new destination ignites the
sparks to which we pour our promises into, offering the symbolisms of hope and the prayer that shall lead us down an enlightened path

However, consequence is always alive in every choice there is to be made….

              Those that harrow our escape, can include what would be soured at during any other given time, yet in such spots as these, the finer points are buried beneath the opened windows that this new brand of savior here completes

Amidst a veil of tragedy, an encapsulating personality reveals itself.  It is here where we eagerly agree to its many hidden terms, where it dethrones us of our combative sense of self-loathing, and leads us up the peaks, to a world completely concealed by the bountiful wonders that shield us from evil’s corrosive eye. 

Yet, to such a choice, consequentiality demands repayment of our contracts stipulations.  Here, we find our chains forever freed, yet still, we must substitute one oppressor for the next, as we find ourselves knelled to their feet, offering up our fealty, bare and ever-more-forever frightfully exposed.   

To such ends, we mind not the burden caused by our individualized subservience.  For it’s not the expressions…no, it is the expressions, glazed upon our family and friends, which make extinguishing conflagration’s kiss, a sacrifice we’d, without doubt, if revisit we ever must, willfully renew, without a bat of lash or a shy of eye.

Together, forge forth and forward recall all the reasons why, we began onto such onsets, striving to, not complete victorious trots about a central stage, but, to do only what we can, and try, is, at last check, synonymous with the definition that embodies the spirit of man

Stop on over to D'Verse where Open Link Night will take its usual spot on the Tuesday Night place to be list.  Doors open at 3pm and it gets crowded really quick, with the party running all night long and longer.  So, write a poem, post it on your site then use the link tool at D'Verse to share your work with the D'Verse community, where a plethora of amazing poetry is always on display. Cheers