This poem was written to all the missed opportunities, to all the screw ups we’ve ever made, and all the regret pilled up within each of us. Enjoy.

Regret

Silent raindrops fall
in the death of night
lit by a single, dying flame
who weeps.

Her existence is ignored
as the years grind down
hitting cold, cold earth
those failing eyes look around

Through the silent faces
of opportunities long past
across hidden doors
and hallowed paths

Where long chapters of life
weren’t left to decay
and lovers still live
past the grave of old photos.

And so she screams, she rages!
but her cries are unheard,
her torment unnoticed,
sadness unseen.

For in the death of night
the dying flame
still weeps.

A.C.