Crying Shame

It has just come to me, As I lay here thinking, How sorry it seems to be And what a crying shame That I am left behind, A fish washed up on shore, A lonely cub separated And abandoned by the pack, My peers have all moved on, They’ve gone their separate ways, All romantically involved With full-time occupations, And yet I remain here, Hardly anything has changed, And I know it’s my fault So my thoughts fill with shame, Shame for not moving on, Shame for being dependent, Shame for doing half as much, Shame for not doing enough. … Then something alien occurs, An unusual thought appears, That perhaps I have not failed And I should not feel shameful, For, truly, what use is there, What good does having guilt do? What shame should I ever feel For taking a different route? And now do I see what’s true, That the only crying shame Lies in my demented brain, And not what I use it for.