04-18-2014, 03:07 AM
Regret is like a subtle burr
that often nettles me
it opens seraph wounds that thrive
and heal but leave debris
My gathered trinkets wrought of earth
And ware sit all alone in store
As dried and plastered tossed pots
I glazed amidst a storm
What fruitless bacchic frenzy must
Have seized my mattered soul
That never flew except in thoughts
But tested heavens bold.
Who would have thought the light would burn?
And sear my morning eyes
That saw with sight unveiled the past
Beheld in haunting sight.
that often nettles me
it opens seraph wounds that thrive
and heal but leave debris
My gathered trinkets wrought of earth
And ware sit all alone in store
As dried and plastered tossed pots
I glazed amidst a storm
What fruitless bacchic frenzy must
Have seized my mattered soul
That never flew except in thoughts
But tested heavens bold.
Who would have thought the light would burn?
And sear my morning eyes
That saw with sight unveiled the past
Beheld in haunting sight.