Regrets, well, I’ve had many,
But ’tis best to let wasted years be,
As reliving them would make
The present and future misery.
“What can I do now to change my course?
How can I be a happier me?”
Are the questions I should ask myself
To evade future regret and misery.
The past’s been wrought; it brought me here,
And now it’s up to me to see
That since this is the only moment
It’s the best possible one for me.
No matter where it is you go,
And the secrecy you maintain,
And who you think would never know,
And how much you trust in your brain,
There’s always someone watching you,
Seeing the things you thought you did
Free of the askance looking view
In the soul’s conspiracy hid.
And as they spy they start to smile
And think of whom else they might tell
The perverted version to, while
They conjure up false sights as well.
Even innocuous actions
Face gross misinterpretations
By those who see mere fractions
With the worst imaginations.
The music plays its notes so slow,
And the handle turns the surprise.
The air’s stillness is apropos,
But not excitement in your eyes.
Something clicks as you turn a note;
Your stomach sours and sickens.
You cringe, watching the lid explode
Like suicide bomber chickens.
The jack-in-the-box taunts us now;
We push his scabby head back in.
Someone winds him the first time loud;
They can’t help but do it again.
But sometimes some, after their shocks,
Forget to push the puppet in;
They’re scared by their jack-in-the-box,
For that is life, world with an end.
Innocence is your first friend
When you bump into this world,
Getting quite the concussion.
It finds you fetal and curled
And whispers sick lullabies
To make you trust everyone.
And suff’ring from amnesia,
Confidence is easily won.
Life and friends start to betray,
And everything is just show.
Abandoned, abused you find
Innocence was the first to go.
An aged child, I watched you as you died,
Slowly at first for you yet believed
At first in diet and then in faith,
Albeit your hopes were quite deceived.
You staunchly refused to have chemo,
Since radiation sickened you so.
The healers all came and laid on hands
Covering your head with olive oil.
You thought there was much reason to live,
But still your health continued to spoil.
And then you died, your innermost light,
Your source of will, the strength of your fight.
And afterwards little time was left,
And you were deteriorating,
Spewing acid words to maim my faith.
Your spirit was debilitating.
Your muscle reduced to nothingness,
Your stoicism into tenderness.
You whittled a wooden pry bar pick
To open your nearly lockjawed mouth
For liquid drops to tease the hunger.
Your ravaged being headed south.
The bastion of manhood I once knew,
Wasting, lucidity failing you
Nor pranks nor jokes would ever more play
The mage who could make the skies rain gum.
A frail filament nigh to burn out
We gave our last regards one by one
In a small window of remembrance
While morphine and pain were no cumbrance,
And you died as she held your shriveled hand,
Never making it past forty-two.
And since there was nothing we could give
To mitigate pain or restore you,
Your death was a gift on Christmas Day;
You died forgiven in every way.
my neighbors’ kids are home alone
the sweet one’s 5 the angel’s 3
i scolded them for opening the door
to strangers as strange as me
and as i walked across the street
to my dilapidated abode
a tiny thought entered my mind
which incessantly does goad
the scum of the earth worst parents
who beat their kids and scream
can still wind up with the best kids
while of kids i may only dream
so maybe if i weren’t such a nice guy
and merited no self-dignity
i might have great offspring
and therein lays the irony
Childhood trips were oft painful things,
Even those small jaunts to the store.
Listening as a sibling sings
Made you vow to go nevermore.
The pain, the pain, but not from song,
But from bruised arms and wounded prides
When a punch buggy drove along
Causing large bruises on our hides
Should it be that we were not first
To see it and strike, and even then
There were times you were reimbursed.
Would this misery never end?
Were we hit again, we would cry;
No boy should be seen doing such.
That, in truth, is the reason why
We asked, “Are we there yet?” so much.
It had naught to do with the way
The ability to drive morphs
Your mind. What seemed to take all day
To reach, now but five minutes dwarfs.
Lo, herein lays perception’s key:
Five minutes of what you control
Are hours of captivity
When you’re a prisoner in soul.
For four hundred and thirty-six
Reasons there are not to love me
Mentally, emotionally,
Spiritually, and physically,
And that is all, I must confess,
Give or take nine thousand ten.
I am only…you know the rest,
A rare perfection among men.
None else is so complicated,
So loving them’s vain and easy;
Only patient, dedicated
Gluttons for pain could dare love me.
“Friendship is a delicate beast
That you must tend with utmost care,
Because, if it ever escapes,
You’ll wonder if ’twere ever there.”
You told me this, though much too late,
After I’d let false friendship grow.
There was ne’er reason to warn me,
As it’s something I well should know.
Time passed like strangers lost in mist,
And my little faults were revealed.
Though I’d been self-sacrificial,
Our relationship I had killed.
How? I fin’ly withheld the blade
I’d long used in sacrifices
Of precious, intangible things,
Being sure the past suffices
To build a strong rapport with you.
But you forgot all I’d given
The self-same moment,
And our shallow bond was riven.
That is to say when I perform
In a manner which pleases you
And live up to all your standards
We can be friends; if not it’s through.
I lead only by accident
And circumstances uncontrolled.
After all, I’m too arrogant
And unfeeling to maintain hold
On power through legitimate
Means, and therefore I never try.
But somehow I’m chance’s inmate,
And to serve I’m forced to comply.
No one would willingly choose me,
But it seems they’re as stuck as I.
We’ll make it through this hopefully,
But I wonder, “How, when, and why?”
Midnight Musings from Melancholy Muses 