My Regret
My regret is a junkie, knocking on my door hours
before dawn, needing my peace just this one
last time to get through the day.
Sometimes I'm too discouraged to deny it.
I'll listen to it's repeated ramblings while
it's sifting through my days and nights.
Looking for joy to steal and destroy.
I am weakened by the loss and the
helplessness.
It's the glass that I slam into, always with
surprise, that cuts up old wounds that can
not bleed anymore.
It's the home movies of my past being shown
in vibrant color and nauseating detail.
I am a captive audience that laments,
embarrassed and ashamed.
Through many years of tears and pride,
my regret knows it's unwelcomed.
It's the overstaying visitor that refuses to
take the hint.
It's through those very tears that wisdom
has blossomed and strength grew out of
the tough soil of my heart.
Armed with these, I can shut and lock the junkie
out,
and listen to it's fading, stumbling steps.
