Deathbed Regrets


You think your legs are chunky,
that I'm a cheeky monkey
for wanting them wrapped round me night and day.
You never say Hail Marys
or thank God for the fairies,
your gait leaves me in awe of things
I'll never touch or hope to bring inside me,
or my house or home,
this thing leaves me sedate, alone
and thank fuck you are not insane,
at least I do not think so.
Your dress uncomplicated,
your presence where my fate is,
your hope is where despair lives,
in a soul that waits for meaning that's not there.
You ignore me in the daytime, 
and think there is no reason to make life more complicated than it is.
When we are dead and broken,
as we will be, as we are; 
time will close the curtains we were frightened to draw open.

◄ I just like art galleries and getting pissed

Cuckoo ►


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Thu 1st Aug 2013 13:27

Steve's right - that's a poem in itself.

This is a moving lament John. Sometimes you don't need to be on your deathbed to have regrets, do you - and life is full of paths we never took.

Great to see you back posting.

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