Regrets
Here upon my desk I work.
Lines and words tumble fast.
Past and future will all come to the present.
Let it flow. Let it come.
As I try to unravel the stitches of life,
to have a meaning for my existence.
The page is blank; the words are gone.
The years pass, and the pages yellow.
I cannot put one word down.
The twilight of my life is near.
My mind is gone; my life is empty.
I pass the paper and pen on;
on towards the next life to ruin.
Take their dreams to paper.
After that, they cannot live it.
After it is shared, it is no longer personal.
It is no longer theirs.
My night is here. The mists clear.
Now I wish I just had a pen.