My regrets lie hidden below the murky surface
of my emotional seascape,
threatening to pull me down,
like wet woollen wet weather gear
drowns a sailor who falls overboard in a storm.
For regrets are arcane debts never to be repaid.
For the done, cannot be unpicked re-done, nor undone,
and getting over it, needs an account transaction,
to balance the debt, with savings from the good times.
I seldom count my regrets, nor mention them in balance sheet.
For many are too painful to bear, even one at a time.
Going back, reliving the prologue, is a bitter aperitif
to the main course of 'What ifs' dished up with 'If Only' sauce.
This is a poem written by a teenage girl looking for a husband.
It was written as a prayer, and this is what she asked of the Lord:
Dear God, I pray all unafraid,
As girls are wont to be;
I do not want a handsome man,
But make him, Lord, like Thee.
I do not need one big and strong,
Nor yet so very tall,
Nor need he be some genius,
Or wealthy, Lord, at all;
But let his head be high, dear God,
And let his eye be clear,
His shoulders straight, whate'er his fate;
whate'er his earthly sphere.
And let his face have character,
A ruggedness of soul,
And let his whole life show, dear God,
A singleness of goal.
And when he comes,
As he will come,
With quiet eyes aglow,
I'll know, dear Lord,
That he's the man
I prayed for long ago.
That girl's name was Ruth Bell, and she
later met and married Billy Graham.
Jim Horn
I have had the flu for over ten days and am getting over it.
The the clock strikes nine
And gone is the last sip of wine
To numb my sorrow of you leaving
God I wish it wasn’t so easy
Why is getting over it harder for me
Indoor universe
Where my hurt is in reverse
Used to share this shelter
Away from any kind of freezing weather
You used to touch
I used far too much
Now if your gone to release
The pressure we were under increase
Indoor universe
Where we go in reverse
Yes it’s my personal church
To pray for a another day to be with you
That’s not too much to ask …. Is it?
Indoor universe
Within my indoor universe
You know I’m not hurt
With you it’s a dead cert
That whenever we blend
Something good never ends
Indoor universe where nothings certain
The stars contained by the ceiling
Just like my heart slowly revealing
My never ending hunger for you
Indoor universe
Where my hurts in reverse
Come and place your hands
Over the cold in the place
Of the doubt that immerses
When your hearts so uncertain
But not even rain falls in the indoor universe
Once you've got the writing bug, you'll know it.
It's not like other ailments you've had.
Instead of getting over it,
you're composing. When you find
you're popping out posies
almost daily - then
you've got it bad!
Doctor says,
"NEVER
STOP."
Just write and write and write. Best advice I can give.
thinking of you again my mind is broke
you threw me away like my love was a joke
trying to get over it take a breath and choke on the memory of you
your sounds and smell have stained my heart and mind
someone to make me forget about you is what i need to find
but what if that person doesn't exist
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