Far simpler to pray the older one gets,
the awareness of little time left wraps your mind
and thoughts and regrets flood your inner being.
How sad that I cannot relate this age-old wisdom,
this depth of tranquility, to those that have years to squander.
I wonder if the feeling of remorse and the worth of a prayer
is only revealed to us when we can almost touch
the gates of the great here after.
SEPTEMBER'S POSTSCRIPT
The amber calendar dissolves,
leaving September behind to
inherit the melancholic residue
of our ephemeral summer.
The equinox arrives, a quiet
guillotine of gold,
servering the incandescent
warmth we used to hold.
September recedes, leaving a
skeletal landscape behind,
and the calcified architecture of
a love designed
in the reckless crucible of July's
blinding blaze,
now reduced to the twilight of
these shortening days.
Your absence is a reminiscence
that deeply hyperventilates,
an unforgettable phantom that
never truly abates.
I am trapped in the
retrospection of your quiet
silhouette,
navigating the imperishable
cartography of my own regret.
Every fallen leaf is a
memorandum of what we
could not save,
a fragile, amber monument
above a silent, emotional grave.
I am paralyzed by this heavy,
internal compunction,
standing alone at our love's
abandoned junction.
The autumn wind whisper of a
bittersweet commemoration,
of a fleeting, brilliant spark lost
to sudden isolation.
September leaves behind the
frost of what will never be,
locking your ghost forever in
the vault of my memory.
In the morning light
his face looked less like the man
she had expected
They lay side by side,
both scrolling through the choices
that they should have made
Their chemistry, like
a free trial period,
had to be canceled.
She called an Uber
efficient, polite, before
the thought came to him
They'd shared a playlist
that was all breakup songs - which
should have been a clue
.
.
A song for this:
Kiss Me by Sixpence None the Richer
I regret of travelling years
Shouldn’t have been to many places
Memories do disappear
Faces mix with other faces
Shouldn’t have been humiliated
When they asked how long I’d stay
Should have turned my back and waited
For a flight home the same day
You don’t dare to question me
Should have said, but chickened out
Offered my excuses politely
Was allowed to join the crowd
Once I stood beside the study
Of the Constable’s Leaping Horse
Thought I’d rather be that muddy
Piece of clay on painted earth
Than to bear this old torment
Of the human pedigree
But if you could say that moment
Wasn’t my best, I would agree.
Hello? Yes, I do have a Ford for sale!
It’s listed on Autotrader today.
There are lots of options, it’s quite upscale,
I can see it from here in my driveway.
Yes, it does have a lot of miles it’s true,
But gosh it’s never ever let us down!
Pardon? It’s a very nice shade of blue,
My wife chose the colour, I preferred brown.
She’s gone now you know, my wife died last year.
I miss her so much, she’s still in my heart…
She was so happy I bought it for her!
What? Oh the Ford? Yes it’s easy to start.
It shines like brand new, it’s washed every day,
It always runs great, and stops on a dime
It’s darn decent with gas on the highway.
I keep it tuned up, it’s still in its prime!
You know what? I think I made a mistake!
I’m hanging up now, of my own accord.
Why would I sell? That car will never break!
My wife would kill me if I sold her Ford!
BAD NEWS ON WAR FRONT
THAT PUTIN WAS NOW CONFRONT
REGRETTING THIS STUNT
Fleeting images haunt my life,
ghosts of my regrets,
memories referenced
by a long, deep sigh;
things not done, words left unsaid,
unresolved aspects of my life
are open-ended dots
upon the page.
Conversations for which I compromised
intelligence and wit
are exclamation points
within my mind;
regrets for which there is no cure,
no admonition given,
no recompense
for those mistakes once made.
Knowledge stands alone
within reversed quotation marks,
utterances of the mind
scrawled in the margins;
residue from lessons learned
that float within the mental mist,
ready-references
for situations yet unborn.
All those past regrets are footnotes
listed randomly, at best,
after which
a period is placed.
Your ghost
lives under my bed,
comes out
only at midnight,
wandering around
messing with my head
and vanishing like phew
moment the sun steps in.
In the noon hours I forget
what's that all about.
But often reminisce
once the sun says goodbye.
Like any other night
I will face you again,
looming over
and me looking back
like nothing unusual .
I am just curious.
Are you not willing to leave?
or
am I not ready to let go?
They walk in spotless, pointed shoes, through burned fields
hands in front, folded in prayer.
Their talk drips honey, over the graves they dug themselves.
calling it mercy.
They are artisans of fog,
blurring horizons with smoke and mirrors.
Every wound they make is a misunderstanding,
blamed on the victims of their attacks.
They weave fig-leaf halos out of denials,
as snakes unwind and recoil in the grass.
Their smiles are taut, righteous, and rehearsed
eyes gleaming with the confidence of a practiced con.
They speak of love, but leave heart-shaped tattoos,
as mementos and curios in their wake.
To face them is to stand before a mirror,
that swears blind your reflection never existed.
They fear no reckoning.
For the wrongs are always someone else’s.
Their smugness is deaf, dumb, and blind,
born of sacred, frozen certainty,
worn like virtue naked on face and sleeve.
They polish ashes and call them grace,
reclaiming the fire for yet another fight.
They dress the wound, deny the blame,
their forgiveness ever lame—
in virtuous disdain.
A few return each day
to make me fret
on what I can't forget
is done with, done.
No way back
to make amends
to right the wrongs
to warp the truth
to upend the trends
to reshape the bends
to better the ends.
Swapping heads for tails
starting again
in vain,
in disdain.
Yet still they circle
sly as a fly,
tides that tease,
tug away.
They try
to ask why,
why not,
what might have been,
what could have been—
perhaps,
besides,
the other guise,
to disguise
or deny.
Reality's demise
In the hush of night
It wears my face
Then slips away—
out of place,
out of grace.
Still I wait.
Oh!I wish to be 20 again,
Living a life that I would never forget
Following my dream
Like a passionate bee,
Taking all those risks
Building my own dream house
With every hard earned bricks.
I wish i had enough courage
To do the things i was afraid of
Now i can only scoff
Travelling the whole world
Experiencing different stuffs
But now I'm living a life of a puff
Sitting in a corner
Like a foreigner
They say its never too late
But now it's actually too late
I always waited for right time to come
But then i realized I wasted my entire life in apologism
Now here I'm waiting for death to come
And give me a sympathetic hug
Oh! I wish to be 20 again.
I'm an avid dreamer
To see you in life
To see us together
I'm stargazing wishing you'd talk back
I'm staring the sun down hoping you'd reply
But at the typing bubbles fade, no response
I drink, I cut, I bleed, for love was what I seem
To need to want, its all the same
To have a goal, to have a dream
To want attention and to want fame
To want to know someone to need a team
I'm a failure in it's own
I tried I tried but I've never grown
Who's going to help me when I'm down
Who going to save me from what i've found
I drag my dark to the light
A test despite
Anxiety pushes me back like friction
My emotions are real not fiction
I can make my own choices no diction
But us apart makes me feel distant
I've lost my mind over a joke
Months later I choke
On tears of regret
Of tears of choice
But as I live it up
I forget my sins
Losing friends
Losing lovers
It's grown numb
I need to shed my skin
To release the regret deep within
But as I see the end
Happiness is what I append
AND yet, the earth was beautiful,
From Patagonia to Portugal,
With its immaculate ice sheets,
Its purple sunsets,
AND yet, the earth was beautiful,
The mountains were so pink
And the rivers filled with salmon,
The sun made proud the Maori,
AND yet, the earth was beautiful,
From Tuscany to the vast Chile,
With its thousand-year-old forests,
Its pure rivers and its deserts,
AND yet, the earth was beautiful.
Every summer the sun was touching your skin,
Your fingers, your cheeks, your nose and then your chin,
And I dreamt that one day I will touch them, too,
I dreamt I could hold your face and then kiss you.
I dreamt of feeling your wet, soft lips on mine,
I dreamt of sharing a home and a red wine,
My heart was so loud, but my mouth was so still,
I kept my dreams inside, and I always will.
Now you have a wife, a daughter and a son,
My heart is so empty, and nothing is fun,
It's way too late to say how much I love you,
I wish you were mine, I wish you loved me, too.
My dear friend, we'll never have a time for us,
We won't share a home or a kiss in a bus,
My dear friend, it is so hard to let you go,
Without you, my heart is soft and cold like snow.
The coach of age is moving forward
It doesn’t stop, not for a moment
With us inside, this trip is long
Or maybe not, it ends like song
We’ve been and done, laughed, felt and grieved
Pushed forward, aimed and believed
Sometimes won but often lost
And carry memories embossed
Spawned life, read books and places went
Earned what we could and spent spent spent
Gazed at night skies, imbibed the breeze
Made love and hugged the main squeeze
And while the train is moving on
Those places to which once were drawn
Revisit, not to have remorse
When motion stops and off we’re forced
Talk to thy friends, remember time
When younger were, in our prime
Don’t miss this chance, it will be gone
We disembark while time moves on
Do all the good you can while here
Just do what’s right and feel no fear
These ain’t my words, but wisdom is
And trust not me but your heart, please
Stand tall with nothing to regret
Be all you can and leave no debt
You’d never know what is unread
In book of yours before you’re dead
Lit all the candles while one can
For strangers and one’s own clan
We live, then leave without lore
So, let them burn just little more
January 26, 2026
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.