Regret, how it hurts.
Doesn’t matter how many times I wish you were back, you’ll never come back.
You’re gone, and went in the worst way there was in my opinion.
I cried and I sobbed when I heard the news, we all did.
We had a chance to know, a chance to save you.
But we were too oblivious to the letter before it’s too late.
They were awful, vile creatures from the woodworks,
And all I can do is pray that they get their karma.
I said horrible things, In a moment of apprehension,
From what my mother went through as a child.
But I should’ve never blamed you,
You were just a child yourself.
I had so many things to say,
So many times to say “I love you”
But I’m too late.
Now all I can is sit and talk to your headstone,
Wishing I said everything before I was too late.
Categories:
woodworks, angel, angst, conflict, cry,
Form: Free verse
Public Figures live a life that is filled with angst
and paranoia, always wondering where
their enemies are, so they experience ambivalence
when venturing far,
Naysayers often crawl out from the woodworks,
taunting and acting like jerks,
The perks they get from notoriety is pale in
comparison to the anxiety overzealous people bring,
A precarious life is what they look forward to,
so their lives is based on being impromptu,
Often wondering who is trying to get through
their walls of high tech security and fear.........
Categories:
woodworks, introspection, life, on work
Form: Dramatic Monologue
Some ride coffins
Black and slick
Completely round
The best of linen interior
For when your inbound
Four feet laid under the ground.
Some swim in tears
Blue tinted, salty, and clear
Drowning their cheers
Pain always living in it
Public with their lament
Swollen eyes become slits.
Some hide from fears
Pressure stifling abilities
Alien to feelings of tranquility
Melting into the woodworks
Like lost tribes of gloom
Dead flowers which will never bloom.
Some are searchers
Seeking out the wretches
Desperately taking accolades
Like bones being tossed
To rabid slobbering dogs
Selfishly wanting their own applause.
Some are procreators
Breeders of hate
Tearing the wombs
Bleeders of hearts
Butchers of gentleness they filet
Lost souls for the ones who disobey.
Some take things farther
Openers of closed doors
Never sitting still
Builders strengthening others wills
Unselfishly bringing new beginnings
To those of the nonliving.
Some we never knew
Like aimless doves flying
Wrinkling moments in time
With upside down smiles
Painted onto canvasses
Of blank faces…
Categories:
woodworks, angst, life, people,
Form: I do not know?