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Written: November 10, 2024
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In the quiet of a twilight room,
heartbeats harmonize with a haunting hymn,
each thump a haunting, a reminder,
slipping softly, selection swirled—sands of serenity 
burden of bleakness bears back 
on shoulders that once soared with hope.

Sorry is a shadow that sways silently,
a specter that waltzes through memories,
its breath curling like smoke,
whispering tales of what might be,
if only the clock may rewind,
tarry time's ticking, just this once.

We tread the winds of an ebbing tide,
drawing down to days we desired to dissipate,
caught in the undertow of our own making,
sailing against the will, we rue the sails 
that selected the stony strands of yesteryear,
each wave a whisper, “what if?”

I stand, a silhouette shaped by shame,
wami, with a gaze that wanders to the floor,
fetching the flutter of failed phrases,
Each unfurling thought a weighty stone— 
fury, flowing like a fresh, fierce fissure,
gathering grief behind gleaming guises. 

How often have I loved but never showed? 
How many weeps have soaked into the earth,
trilling my spunk sadness into the soil? 
Have I not walked through tides of compunction,
faced fearful nights of futilely fretting,
seeking solace in settings that seem 
all alarmingly airy amid anatomy and anguish?

There are times I’d tempt the tides,
bartering bliss for brightness, a sincere saga,
standing before the gallows of my past deeds,
with calm conviction, contrite, crestfallen,
wishing for wisdom, not withering,
but still hearing echoes—a refrain:

“I’m sorry,” tossed like a stone,
each syllable heavy on my tongue,
as we weave these threads of consequence 
into a tapestry faded yet bright,
woven with wisdom's whispers,
and the gleam of a gamble gone grim.

And indeed, I am intimidated. 
of the perils housed within every breath,
of the silent storms hurrying through cheeks,
as pleasure and peril intertwine with puzzle 
each reminder a blooming flower of regret,
plentiful plans, now plagued with pain

The night navigates, we don our diadems 
of heartbreak—vines tightening around hearts,
cradling the lessons learned amidst the hurt,
as guilts and grievances, like amiss guests,
linger over evening tea, reminding us softly,
not all facets of existence extend an extra time,
no notion that nuances will nurture forgiveness.

as daybreak dispels drowsiness from tired tresses,
as dawn dances and shadows shrink swiftly,
I seize shining options, shroud them in scarlet,
carrying my burdens from yesteryear’s twilight— 
a painter’s brush drenched in deep melancholia,
sculpting a heart that learns to care for its frailties 
like threads glimmering softly in the vast dark,
weaving the pain, allowing for a graceful glow.
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