The world shimmers,
glistens in dazzling monochrome;
the way to peace is paved in grey.
A woodpecker breaks the still,
tip-tap, tip-tap, tip-tap,
or a keyboard, or my heart.
Where others point and look,
I slink into the shadow of a shadow,
hide behind a dream and weep.
This is it.
This is it.
I dwindle, fade in and out. No more tangible than a vivid dream, I strive to remain where my feet find no solidity and fingernails grasp at air. This place dissolves, another lighter breath taking its place. My one regret, I’ve already forgotten how it felt, if ever I knew.
Hair falls curtained across her eyes; I don’t know their colour. Thick, black glasses distract from the places left uncovered by the book that sucks at her face.
Dwelling in the furthest corner of the darkest class, she is a ghost, always has been. One day I’ll speak to her.
There are days when you wish you’d never opened your eyes,
You spin in a vortex of uncontrolled nightmares,
Focus torn screaming from your mind and laid out for all to see.
I call these days somedays, as they aren’t everyday, or even yesterday.
But one someday is too many for a person seeking to be free of them:
Today is a someday, but tomorrow hopefully won’t be.
When the sun finally sets
And dusk darkens from grey to black;
When the moon deems not to rise
And a bleak nowhere remains,
I shall not regret the life I’ve lived.
When stars twinkle from within, not without
And infinity beckons,
I’ll be smiling and waving goodbye.
Life is too short for regrets
And that final night too long to harbour them.
There is no greater tragedy in life,
No regret more tangible in one’s final breath,
Than a moment lost to time, your moment.
It is the flower never given chance to bloom,
Bud unopened and wilted.
It is the sin of lethargy
Of not having tried when the potential was there;
Not flourishing in a summer of chance;
Not realising the dreams of the child.
It is a regret I shall not participate of
And I hope you won’t too.
I saw her as a ghost.
Transposed, was she,
Drifting through the day
When night her true realm.
The sun sought to illuminate her,
Dawn’s first light slipping through lithe form,
As she breezed intangible before its glow.
She would flicker in and out of vision
A wavering candle before a storm:
Apt in its way.
Occasionally, I thought she’d smile,
But it never lasted.
Like the clouds, spectral, inconsistent,
She ghosted through my life:
I’d just never realised until the day she left.
By then it was far too late.
(Image courtesy of thyghostboy on deviantart.com)