Mourning's Repitition

I Am A Child No Longer

I Am a Child No Longer

I am a child no longer.

Simple joy eludes me.
Simple expression
becomes calculation,
for no one holds space
for adult emotion.

I am a child no longer.

My regulation
is willed by consequence,
for all actions
become stains,
pigments
which cling to the fabric of life.

take me back

Take me back to simpler times,
when life was mapped out,
when it became linear in scope.

One accomplishment,
paving the way to the next,
as if lined up like dominoes:
one falls,
the next follows,
until the full scope is revealed.

Take me back to a time
when my mind was clear,
filled with a hunger to chase,
to forge experiences without pause.

Take me back to when ability
meant accomplishment.

For now, anxiety possesses the throne,
its reign tyrannical in scope.

So I shrink,
lose self,
often wondering what could have been
if given the chance to return.

Mourning's Repitition

A thousand times, I mourn your absence, a recurring wound which stains every moment.

I mourn you alongside every achievement, the absence of your pride taking center stage.

I mourn you as thoughts of what could have been accompany my living.

The memories of your existence cement themselves alongside moments we’ll never again share.

So, I mourn.

A thousand times, I mourn.

Among a thousand moments, I mourn.

I mourn.

I mourn.

The final goodbye

In retrospect,

should have been a moment

I cherished,

held onto so deeply

that even death

could not pry it from me.

I should have clung to your embrace

a little longer,

stolen your scent,

archived your voice,

captured moving pictures of you.

For moments with you fade with time,

like dust in the wind,

scattered to all cardinal points.

Time, the Keeper of Decisions

Time becomes a keeper of all decisions; it holds the consequences, like a collector hoarding treasure.

Time often wonders, I'd assume, why we never learn. For examples present themselves, along with choices given.

Yet the minds of men cling to beneficial outcomes, intoxicated by all that is good, for bad cannot happen to me.

Time, having witnessed all, finds that funny, I assume. For those words become monsters haunting dreams, creating sleepless nights and minds plagued by regret.

Regret, which morphs, taking monstrous forms.

However, when choice was given and decisions made, "what ifs" never entered thought. But now, they hold court.

to go is to see

To go is to see, Every step leads to new experiences, New adventures, And lessons to learn.

Every step ventured Is the accumulation of stories, Of tales which lead the mind to wonder, To be amazed, To be astonished, To be heartbroken at times.

For every venture Possesses danger, Alongside riches and knowledge.

To go is to see, To learn, To be amazed.

Hindsight is 20/20

Looking back,
this heartache
is well deserved.

For love’s goggles
shielded the venom
you spewed,
made the pain you inflicted
something I needed to reflect on.

For my judgement
became clouded
by the ecstasy of loving you.

Distance washed my eyes clean;
clear sight returned.

A monster’s gaze
looking back.

I ponder:
how did amber-coloured signs
ever appear green?

For I bled for you,
sacrificed for you,
escaped death for you.

But to you,
that was a price owed.

Masks Fall

Masks Fall

Pretense wavers

for greed tires of playing

hide-and-seek.

Like a serpent,

it lies in wait,

striking when hunger

reaches boiling point.

Your malice

undresses,

refusing

to be confined up

under layers of kindness.

Like nudists

suffocated by garments,

layer by layer,

stripped away by time,

your fangs

finally find

their freedom.

beneath the scars

We bear scars
From wounds
Inflicted,
But which remain
Unseen,
Yet shaping
Every step,
Every interaction.

We bear scars
That lay dormant,
Becoming infections,
Whose healing
Becomes a herculean task.

We bear scars.
We walk
With gaping wounds
Which the world never sees.

toward no coordinate

A single step taken,

A journey begins,

One accompanied by tests.

Without a single page revised,

A journey enshrined

In vines of thorns,

Which carry lessons with each prick.

Still, another step is taken,

And another.

Each callus gained

Becomes a check mark

Of each lesson earned.

As lessons accumulate,

They bond themselves within an aging soul.

The journey continues, step by step,

Toward a destination containing no coordinate,

Yet drawing the soul to it.

A magnetism so strong

That each step in the wrong direction

Is met with a pull

So harsh that the body rattles

In its effort to correct its course.