Empty roads and hearts of stone,
show the leaves left unturned.
The blank canvas yearning for colours
left waiting endlessly on the easel.
The tides that once were high in spirit,
now lay flat on the shores of the land.

Face set and hands met off the clock, innocence is often lost as seconds drop.
Our magic stirs but it's strength can fade, so in retrospect why ever expect better.

A middle ground of careless selfishness, when failure is an automated pretense. The real fault in our aims for success, not of ourselves but ignoring those with less.

Time is short, decisions often compromised, death will soon swing by to take your eyes. Without a single disregard for who you are, to choose yourself above all others on par.

It was a shotgun wedding
and the bullet hit 'em both.

Woodland gardens, in their clunky brown depth
Of wet, powdered strings soiled in sap
The raw scent of shapeless red clay lost and wondered -
Where I, remember briefly, catching a glimpse of a bear
Or rather it's fur.

Mingled in the concert, a blur of peculiar bursts of noises
Struck with no identity, whimsical and plain
The songs of festivities -
Cool, romantic winds fueled the ferris wheel
As the man pressed flatly in pools of his own vitality
Broke my heart into orbes of fear and empathy.

If you watch closely
You'll come to know that men won't lie when you're listening
They won't hide.
You'll lie for them to yourself when you catch your eyes closing.

I
miss the young you
You
weren't so complicated

You drive through the woods; you start to feel lost,
your car and your mind have blown their exhaust.
With nothing but time to drown in remorse,
you wonder if you are on the right course.
Look back where you came and up to the sky,
clouded stars can’t shine although they may try.
You look back on the path, covered in mist,
chances you had that you feel you’ve missed.
Accept where you are, forge a path instead,
through small slow steps will you know what’s ahead.
If your mind retreats back towards the start,
listen instead to the beat of your heart.
Plant your feet in the soil, eyes closed and breathe.
Regret is what lets you know that you’re free.

Retrospect.
The dangerous game,
I play for pinks,
With sanity in the stakes.

Royal Flush,
My house is full of jokers.

Brokered a deal with the thoughts who spoke whisper'd cutthroat scenes.

Intraspect:
Everyone is perfect.
Except for me.

To read my old conversations...
That are long now passed,
It is both more, and less jarring than I expected it to be.

I am taken aback,
Not because I am taken back,
But only due to the sharp and nigh painful retrospect of our mistakes.
How differently I wish I did anything,
Not because I wish I still had you,
But, because I am disappointed in myself for not living up to my own values...
Blinded by the blind, blind love I was in.

Retrospect and nostalgia may be similar,
In fact...
They're either edge of the same sword.