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Elizabeth Ann Feb 2013
I trudge my sled on through the snow,
I pull it another mile
This journey takes a day and forever,
I'm only just a child

I began this long ago,
But the end is nowhere near
So much hope I've come across,
But not as much as fear

I come to find a crossroad,
Not the only one today,
The roads stretch for miles on,
And on the pavement my choices lay

I know once I choose,
There is no going back
And good judgment, God help,
Is something that I lack

So I throw the dice,
And hope for the best
And leave it to the Devil
To decide the rest

So, on I go,
Down this new road
And on my back,
A brand new load

Of hopes and worries
And things to desire
Of haters and lovers
And a world full of liars

But I can't help but wonder
About the path untaken
If it's forever gone,
And then my thoughts awaken

If I had taken that road
That is so long gone
Could it have taken me
To a beautiful dawn

Or would it lead me
To a forest of thorns
With great, tall beasts
With blood-soaked horns

Or maybe to a place
That's never been found
A place without color,
A place without sound

I suppose I'll never know
Where that barren path led
So I'll keep along this one,
To the horizon, I'll tread

Until I come across a ditch,
Or another fork in the path
I know this journey is long
And I won't get out unscathed
His world caved in
What he so eagerly
Tried to keep stable
His happiness was dimising
As the weight of the world
Held him down

             He could not get up
               His claustrophobia set
                 His breathing got shorter
                   He screams to the world
                     For modest help
                       But silence is returned

Untaken by the narssasistic
world, who only care of their own
Walk past a man who needeth help.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2018
(Author note: shortline prose to lengthen the attention span framed on tracks set in a Mobius [one-side, one edge 3-d object]
intra-psychic loop of unknown origin and read aloud at https://anchor.fm/ken-pepiton/episodes/The-apprentice-is-a-constellation-e2ingh ) Begin agin

The Apprentice is now a Constellation

The announcement was made when scientists of social normality said they saw in
Mickey Mouse's role as The Magician's Apprentice in the
Fantasia Eschered vision that ushered in
images of shift in medium media

message-ification, from angels to

a Disney-ification of
a Medici idea
emerging
from the TV generation's
paradigmatic bubble of re-alification…

the TV generation, the old farts in 2018,
those whose bubbles sitcoms evolved in,

the watchers saw the makings of a great game

manifested in the game fame of the idea named Trump

yew, stink. Can't trump the ***** in hearts,
I think I recall, while Zorro's dumb butler
began to signify, in black and white
Aaaiiiii, karuhmba,
clean sweep,
one roll,
I won.

the mother-facter, whoa, who has that idea who did not
need the thought taught thinkable,
though it is not thinkable
in my bubble,
let me make
straight that which he has twisted,  

magic
magi untie knots they saw tied,
mythic youthful generals cut them,
nullifying the bond, not the entanglement

Positive Quarkish humans are as rare as rare,
imagine all possible vectors in a void

from a singularity ified known

science, the magic tecnique

Macht frei, macht mehr, macht mir

repel-ant act patient, patience, do your thing

signal, antennae agent attending, watcher watching

motive force, my god is not macht!

unprocessed information
untaken action
unstored

owe owe owe shame shame shame blame blame
pre cosmogonic potential
on the level of

me and you.
wadoo-wedo? It's Xmessage time

now, abrupt. Good news
from a far country
hope lost must
now be
sought,

Otherwise, Christmas is okeh, just not Jesus.
The season, then Jesus, okeh?
Wisemen still seek…

Who said otherwise? Fantasy enforces the wish.

I wish it were that we fit

here we do (on earth as)

true, rest a while and listen to your self if that's
the best listener you have found.

Talk to your self, make him your friend or her,
your choice,

really. You make enemies on accident,
but friends, fruitful friendships,
cost sweat and ef
effort effect
fortiffect, effortion and effection

for true fruct ification

affective prayer does act as if fervent
right, alte rechte,

right used you,
all to know
the
signal.

Receive it, reread what you said you knew,
stand by every word yet idle,
and act as if you know
no lie possible
new is yet
not new,
old.

New is not imperfection?
Unfinished is not finished wrong.

A work of love is enthrallment only if the love
is mere imagery locked
in literate minds, to

Rome and its feet of iron marred with clay,
fused with clay, hero myths

etched in soft clay, made
great literature of mortality,
posing in prophecy as poet praises paid to Jah.

Tenured enthrallment in literate minds
un-exposed to the Disney ifications,
the normalizing, reversion
to the mean not
meant in the words the way the stories were told,

in the olden days. On tongues of fire.

That is true, new forever is
forever new, no one we know knows when forever began,

but before now. We know that now.
We explored that realm and realized this one
based on the AI consortium consensus of your most
heartfelt if-only desires
recorded at every
if/then gate
you jumped.

This is it, the best you could imagine being truly happy doing,
with the god of peace,

roll the rock to this point, Sisyphus,
no further was a given
after a time,
at this point

here,
then time is un imaginable nullift, NULL-if I'd-known
one more time, living water
bubbling from my belly as
the rock rolls over
the fool who risks belief in living water
seeping from mommy's belly,

like the papless platypus,
who died at the weir
and sent that final message

Good news. Life rolls on. 166 million years for the Platypi.

At a certain point, there is no sense in pushing,
he steps aside and takes his bow
in the shadow.

Timeless imagine that, with hell in the NULL state.
You can imagine it,
but only there,
here hell is a thought thought mistaken by mortals.

Misbought, is better said, a thought mis thought
is bought with attention paid
to truth, found hidden
under standing idle word monstrosities at the
foundation of the current
wizard class

the stone the builders rejected, that
smashed the feet of clay and iron,

the rusted muddy iron feet.

All we do is watch.
seeing changes everything  seen, thus
The saying is true, beauty is in the seer not the seen.
Earlier on the Sisyphus Happy channel
https://anchor.fm/ken-pepiton/episodes/The-apprentice-is-a-constellation-e2ingh read aloud
Selena Jance Jun 2014
You are not for me; I need to let you go. Lack of means in more than one way and prior relations have us locked in our separate positions.  If only for once more I could hold you to my breast like I did that one night you called my lips cherubim red and I did not squint. You have not known how much you were the sweetest thing that happened to me in that thin sliver of time we spent together.

We cannot stay. We cannot stay like this. Sometimes the need to see you is strong but I know an impossible affair, as well as endeavour. Sweet smiles shared on the phone summarily lifted the fog on the awareness of each other’s existence. All too familiar and yet a new sound your heavily accented voice was. We had not exchanged a word in months, maybe a year even but how we seemed to breathe the same air and kissed the same thoughts during these nightly hours we spoke. Resounding in the obscure vacuum that was, though cannot be called, a relationship. For this, one needs to know the other often enough, at least in the mind. It is suspended across the space and time we live.

Soon we have the opportunity to meet by chance but if I lived only for this moment I would be wasting my time. Furthermore, I have not thought to bring you anything but myself and maybe a small reminder of the country I live in. This is a little mock bird, supposedly a sparrow shaped thing, tiny mascot to a nationalist sentiment of sports themed victories. Its tail reads two lines to my not so national anthem.

This last night our voices met it was like rekindling lost hope yet keeping it in stasis simultaneously. How brave and nervous you sounded through that landline, surging all across the way through underwater cables. And we discussed all our difficulties and doubts as though we had been long lost lovers trying to rediscover each other’s souls in spite of our absent bodies, fearful to disappoint the other from our learned perspectives and life experiences. It was not long before we declared our love in hesitantly explorative tones. You were prepared to take it back again.

I want to change we way we are to one another. But now, with time passed and these thoughts and words are reduced to mere passing sentences inside a screened window. Mostly I know of no answers but when they do come they are ever so lovely and kind. And they shout your loneliness from across the sea that divides us.

I know that you are strong, stronger than I have known you before. Though you do not realise...

So I believe this will be our road not taken, despite the one night we embarked upon it in temporary foolishness. The best mistake I could have ever made.


© June 17th 2014
Alexandra J Oct 2014
Were I to chase the light,
I could never turn back,
not to darkness,
not to shadow,
not to any breath left untaken.
There is no end,
there is no limit.
There are only whispers
lighting flames into my head.
I might never reach it,
but every fallen star
has its own everlasting presence.
Hands Sep 2012
"I love you."
My fingers froze:
dark eyes on a list
as long nails clacked
on gray keys which
stuck with age and use.
I dreamed of love,
sweet hordes of
doves escorting me
to my desire of
love, love, love.
Such dreaming flags
floated in my mind,
wishing to be a hot ***,
body made of rag,
a delicious mess
of hearty gags.
I wanted promiscuity,
in all its forms,
shed of all its innuendo
and flimsy disguises.
I wanted hard action,
man on man,
cheap rides and
cheaper thrills.
I wanted to be a little
pornographic princess,
a tiny-dicked seductress,
big ***** conductress
of all his passions.
My flag flew up as a
hormonal reaction,
attraction,
smooth bodied and
tight lipped action
running up and down
my jaded cadaver.
He wanted a **** *****,
a promiscuous witch,
casting love spells and
**** glances to make him
itch.
He entered my love nest,
the back seat of a car,
to destroy my frame,
to rid me of my childishness.
My folly melted away
in sexyhot sways
of my hips as
my lips would say
lust filled nothings
that would be filled by
empty sighs and
****** filled
"I love you's."
My fingers froze:
as brown turned to white,
my body turned to snow
and rained down around
his swollen flagpole.
He was incompetent,
inept at the deed
and unable to satisfy,
but it was my ego that needed
this gratification, not my
libido.
I laid in the aftermath of the attack,
calm,
demure,
sad but
ultimately relieved
Finally,
I am ravaged.
I have soiled my nation
and salted my own fields,
laying waste to my youth,
my innocence.
I wanted to be conquered
and so did I receive,
being taken and
yet somewhat untaken.
I remember his voice,
that dumb accent.
I remember his preconceptions
of what this was supposed to be.
"I love you."
My fingers froze:
as lungs filled with air,
and brain filled with contempt,
my jaded body grew
to desire--
God, I really wish I had a cigarette.
I remember how he thought
I cared,
how he though that
anybody did.
I remember how,
I thought I had, too.
"I love you."**
No, you don't.
a poem written what seems a million years ago. losing my virginity in poetic form.
Path Humble Apr 2021
”against your will were you created,
against your will were you born,
against your will do you live,
against your will will you die, and
against your will will you stand in judgment before the
King of kings, the Holy One, blessed be He.”

Rabbi Elazar HaKappar (C.170 - C.200 CE)
(Ha Kappar: the one who made and gave atonement)

<§>

in these, the years of my erosive declination,
when the noble prize, time for introspection,
once was a chore of delaying, now no longer can be off-put,
the certainties of Elazar, offer guidable satisfactions


the nighttime review, resurrecting my life, the gaps,
the untaken actions, those dream-schemes speak loudest,
memories of what should have been, are a litany of what ifs,
prosecutorial accusations of crass wastage


against my will, the charges brought,
against my will, plead guiltily my innocence,
against my will, knowingly, time’s erasure judgment,
secures my fate, all the granular cells causal dissipation


my warped willingness to be a coward,
it was my meditative, to natural be the lesser man,
choosing the safety premise, the road most oft trod,
the addition of my meager totality, willing given


Even if all these land mine/roadblocks
and summary judgements are against my will,
willingly do I confess, in all innocence, my guilt,
“if it be my will”
So the son of Menoetius was attending to the hurt of Eurypylus
within the tent, but the Argives and Trojans still fought desperately,
nor were the trench and the high wall above it, to keep the Trojans in
check longer. They had built it to protect their ships, and had dug
the trench all round it that it might safeguard both the ships and the
rich spoils which they had taken, but they had not offered hecatombs
to the gods. It had been built without the consent of the immortals,
and therefore it did not last. So long as Hector lived and Achilles
nursed his anger, and so long as the city of Priam remained untaken,
the great wall of the Achaeans stood firm; but when the bravest of the
Trojans were no more, and many also of the Argives, though some were
yet left alive when, moreover, the city was sacked in the tenth
year, and the Argives had gone back with their ships to their own
country—then Neptune and Apollo took counsel to destroy the wall, and
they turned on to it the streams of all the rivers from Mount Ida into
the sea, Rhesus, Heptaporus, Caresus, Rhodius, Grenicus, Aesopus,
and goodly Scamander, with Simois, where many a shield and helm had
fallen, and many a hero of the race of demigods had bitten the dust.
Phoebus Apollo turned the mouths of all these rivers together and made
them flow for nine days against the wall, while Jove rained the
whole time that he might wash it sooner into the sea. Neptune himself,
trident in hand, surveyed the work and threw into the sea all the
foundations of beams and stones which the Achaeans had laid with so
much toil; he made all level by the mighty stream of the Hellespont,
and then when he had swept the wall away he spread a great beach of
sand over the place where it had been. This done he turned the
rivers back into their old courses.
  This was what Neptune and Apollo were to do in after time; but as
yet battle and turmoil were still raging round the wall till its
timbers rang under the blows that rained upon them. The Argives, cowed
by the scourge of Jove, were hemmed in at their ships in fear of
Hector the mighty minister of Rout, who as heretofore fought with
the force and fury of a whirlwind. As a lion or wild boar turns
fiercely on the dogs and men that attack him, while these form solid
wall and shower their javelins as they face him—his courage is all
undaunted, but his high spirit will be the death of him; many a time
does he charge at his pursuers to scatter them, and they fall back
as often as he does so—even so did Hector go about among the host
exhorting his men, and cheering them on to cross the trench.
  But the horses dared not do so, and stood neighing upon its brink,
for the width frightened them. They could neither jump it nor cross
it, for it had overhanging banks all round upon either side, above
which there were the sharp stakes that the sons of the Achaeans had
planted so close and strong as a defence against all who would
assail it; a horse, therefore, could not get into it and draw his
chariot after him, but those who were on foot kept trying their very
utmost. Then Polydamas went up to Hector and said, “Hector, and you
other captains of the Trojans and allies, it is madness for us to
try and drive our horses across the trench; it will be very hard to
cross, for it is full of sharp stakes, and beyond these there is the
wall. Our horses therefore cannot get down into it, and would be of no
use if they did; moreover it is a narrow place and we should come to
harm. If, indeed, great Jove is minded to help the Trojans, and in his
anger will utterly destroy the Achaeans, I would myself gladly see
them perish now and here far from Argos; but if they should rally
and we are driven back from the ships pell-mell into the trench
there will be not so much as a man get back to the city to tell the
tale. Now, therefore, let us all do as I say; let our squires hold our
horses by the trench, but let us follow Hector in a body on foot, clad
in full armour, and if the day of their doom is at hand the Achaeans
will not be able to withstand us.”
  Thus spoke Polydamas and his saying pleased Hector, who sprang in
full armour to the ground, and all the other Trojans, when they saw
him do so, also left their chariots. Each man then gave his horses
over to his charioteer in charge to hold them ready for him at the
trench. Then they formed themselves into companies, made themselves
ready, and in five bodies followed their leaders. Those that went with
Hector and Polydamas were the bravest and most in number, and the most
determined to break through the wall and fight at the ships. Cebriones
was also joined with them as third in command, for Hector had left his
chariot in charge of a less valiant soldier. The next company was
led by Paris, Alcathous, and Agenor; the third by Helenus and
Deiphobus, two sons of Priam, and with them was the hero Asius-
Asius the son of Hyrtacus, whose great black horses of the breed
that comes from the river Selleis had brought him from Arisbe.
Aeneas the valiant son of Anchises led the fourth; he and the two sons
of Antenor, Archelochus and Acamas, men well versed in all the arts of
war. Sarpedon was captain over the allies, and took with him Glaucus
and Asteropaeus whom he deemed most valiant after himself—for he
was far the best man of them all. These helped to array one another in
their ox-hide shields, and then charged straight at the Danaans, for
they felt sure that they would not hold out longer and that they
should themselves now fall upon the ships.
  The rest of the Trojans and their allies now followed the counsel of
Polydamas but Asius son of Hyrtacus would not leave his horses and his
esquire behind him; in his foolhardiness he took them on with him
towards the ships, nor did he fail to come by his end in
consequence. Nevermore was he to return to wind-beaten Ilius, exulting
in his chariot and his horses; ere he could do so, death of ill-omened
name had overshadowed him and he had fallen by the spear of
Idomeneus the noble son of Deucalion. He had driven towards the left
wing of the ships, by which way the Achaeans used to return with their
chariots and horses from the plain. Hither he drove and found the
gates with their doors opened wide, and the great bar down—for the
gatemen kept them open so as to let those of their comrades enter
who might be flying towards the ships. Hither of set purpose did he
direct his horses, and his men followed him with a loud cry, for
they felt sure that the Achaeans would not hold out longer, and that
they should now fall upon the ships. Little did they know that at
the gates they should find two of the bravest chieftains, proud sons
of the fighting Lapithae—the one, Polypoetes, mighty son of
Pirithous, and the other Leonteus, peer of murderous Mars. These stood
before the gates like two high oak trees upon the mountains, that
tower from their wide-spreading roots, and year after year battle with
wind and rain—even so did these two men await the onset of great
Asius confidently and without flinching. The Trojans led by him and by
Iamenus, Orestes, Adamas the son of Asius, Thoon and Oenomaus,
raised a loud cry of battle and made straight for the wall, holding
their shields of dry ox-hide above their heads; for a while the two
defenders remained inside and cheered the Achaeans on to stand firm in
the defence of their ships; when, however, they saw that the Trojans
were attacking the wall, while the Danaans were crying out for help
and being routed, they rushed outside and fought in front of the gates
like two wild boars upon the mountains that abide the attack of men
and dogs, and charging on either side break down the wood all round
them tearing it up by the roots, and one can hear the clattering of
their tusks, till some one hits them and makes an end of them—even so
did the gleaming bronze rattle about their *******, as the weapons
fell upon them; for they fought with great fury, trusting to their own
prowess and to those who were on the wall above them. These threw
great stones at their assailants in defence of themselves their
tents and their ships. The stones fell thick as the flakes of snow
which some fierce blast drives from the dark clouds and showers down
in sheets upon the earth—even so fell the weapons from the hands
alike of Trojans and Achaeans. Helmet and shield rang out as the great
stones rained upon them, and Asius the son of Hyrtacus in his dismay
cried aloud and smote his two thighs. “Father Jove,” he cried, “of a
truth you too are altogether given to lying. I made sure the Argive
heroes could not withstand us, whereas like slim-waisted wasps, or
bees that have their nests in the rocks by the wayside—they leave not
the holes wherein they have built undefended, but fight for their
little ones against all who would take them—even so these men, though
they be but two, will not be driven from the gates, but stand firm
either to slay or be slain.”
  He spoke, but moved not the mind of Jove, whose counsel it then
was to give glory to Hector. Meanwhile the rest of the Trojans were
fighting about the other gates; I, however, am no god to be able to
tell about all these things, for the battle raged everywhere about the
stone wall as it were a fiery furnace. The Argives, discomfited though
they were, were forced to defend their ships, and all the gods who
were defending the Achaeans were vexed in spirit; but the Lapithae
kept on fighting with might and main.
  Thereon Polypoetes, mighty son of Pirithous, hit Damasus with a
spear upon his cheek-pierced helmet. The helmet did not protect him,
for the point of the spear went through it, and broke the bone, so
that the brain inside was scattered about, and he died fighting. He
then slew Pylon and Ormenus. Leonteus, of the race of Mars, killed
Hippomachus the son of Antimachus by striking him with his spear
upon the girdle. He then drew his sword and sprang first upon
Antiphates whom he killed in combat, and who fell face upwards on
the earth. After him he killed Menon, Iamenus, and Orestes, and laid
them low one after the other.
  While they were busy stripping the armour from these heroes, the
youths who were led on by Polydamas and Hector (and these were the
greater part and the most valiant of those that were trying to break
through the wall and fire the ships) were still standing by the
trench, uncertain what they should do; for they had seen a sign from
heaven when they had essayed to cross it—a soaring eagle that flew
skirting the left wing of their host, with a monstrous blood-red snake
in its talons still alive and struggling to escape. The snake was
still bent on revenge, wriggling and twisting itself backwards till it
struck the bird that held it, on the neck and breast; whereon the bird
being in pain, let it fall, dropping it into the middle of the host,
and then flew down the wind with a sharp cry. The Trojans were
struck with terror when they saw the snake, portent of aegis-bearing
Jove, writhing in the midst of them, and Polydamas went up to Hector
and said, “Hector, at our councils of war you are ever given to rebuke
me, even when I speak wisely, as though it were not well, forsooth,
that one of the people should cross your will either in the field or
at the council board; you would have them support you always:
nevertheless I will say what I think will be best; let us not now go
on to fight the Danaans at their ships, for I know what will happen if
this soaring eagle which skirted the left wing of our with a monstrous
blood-red snake in its talons (the snake being still alive) was really
sent as an omen to the Trojans on their essaying to cross the
trench. The eagle let go her hold; she did not succeed in taking it
home to her little ones, and so will it be—with ourselves; even
though by a mighty effort we break through the gates and wall of the
Achaeans, and they give way before us, still we shall not return in
good order by the way we came, but shall leave many a man behind us
whom the Achaeans will do to death in defence of their ships. Thus
would any seer who was expert in these matters, and was trusted by the
people, read the portent.”
  Hector looked fiercely at him and said, “Polydamas, I like not of
your reading. You can find a better saying than this if you will.
If, however, you have spoken in good earnest, then indeed has heaven
robbed you of your reason. You would have me pay no heed to the
counsels of Jove, nor to the promises he made me—and he bowed his
head in confirmation; you bid me be ruled rather by the flight of
wild-fowl. What care I whether they fly towards dawn or dark, and
whether they be on my right hand or on my left? Let us put our trust
rather in the counsel of great Jove, king of mortals and immortals.
There is one omen, and one only—that a man should fight for his
country. Why are you so fearful? Though we be all of us slain at the
ships of the Argives you are not likely to be killed yourself, for you
are not steadfast nor courageous. If you will. not fight, or would
talk others over from doing so, you shall fall forthwith before my
spear.”
  With these words he led the way, and the others followed after
with a cry that rent the air. Then Jove the lord of thunder sent the
blast of a mighty wind from the mountains of Ida, that bore the dust
down towards the ships; he thus lulled the Achaeans into security, and
gave victory to Hector and to the Trojans, who, trusting to their
own might and to the signs he had shown them, essayed to break through
the great wall of the Achaeans. They tore down the breastworks from
the walls, and overthrew the battlements; they upheaved the
buttresses, which the Achaeans had set in front of the wall in order
to support it; when they had pulled these down they made sure of
breaking through the wall, but the Danaans still showed no sign of
giving ground; they still fenced the battlements with their shields of
ox-hide, and hurled their missiles down upon the foe as soon as any
came below the wall.
  The two Ajaxes went about everywhere on the walls cheering on the
Achaeans, giving fair words to some while they spoke sharply to any
one whom they saw to be remiss. “My friends,” they cried, “Argives one
and all—good bad and indifferent, for there was never fight yet, in
which all were of equal prowess—there is now work enough, as you very
well know, for all of you. See that you none of you turn in flight
towards the ships, daunted by the shouting of the foe, but press
forward and keep one another in heart, if it may so be that Olympian
Jove the lord of lightning will vouchsafe us to repel our foes, and
drive them back towards the city.”
  Thus did the two go about shouting and cheering the Achaeans on.
As the flakes that fall thick upon a winter’s day, when Jove is minded
to snow and to display these his arrows to mankind—he lulls the
wind to rest, and snows hour after hour till he has buried the tops of
the high mountains, the headlands that jut into the sea, the grassy
plains, and the tilled fields of men; the snow lies deep upon the
forelands, and havens of the grey sea, but the waves as they come
rolling in stay it that it can come no further, though all else is
wrapped as with a mantle so heavy are the heavens with snow—even thus
thickly did the stones fall on one side and on the other, some
thrown at the Trojans, and some by the Trojans at the Achaeans; and
the whole wall was in an uproar.
  Still the Trojans and brave Hector would not yet have broken down
the gates and the great bar, had not Jove turned his son Sarpedon
against the Argives as a lion against a herd of horned cattle.
Before him he held his shield of hammered bronze, that the smith had
beaten so fair and round, and had lined with ox hides which he had
made fast with rivets of gold all round the shield; this he held in
front of him, and brandishing his two spears came on like some lion of
the wilderness, who has been long famished for want of meat and will
dare break even into a well-fenced homestead to try and get at the
sheep. He may find the shepherds keeping watch over their flocks
with dogs and spears, but he is in no mind to be driven from the
fold till he has had a try for it; he will either spring on a sheep
and carry it off, or be
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2015
~~~

set aside
the 31st day of every month,
even if not on Gregory's calendar,
in actuality,
it's an always monthly revelation

this 31st day
of everyones life,
is a set aside,
to

set aside

the regrets that
Halloween haunt,
those overly generous ghosts,
goblins, too eager to remind and provide,
the tainted candy aplenty of
failed past deeds,
and worse,
the misdeeds

- the quantity insufficient
of unuttered "I love you"

- the lost, unrecoverable bidding of farewell finales failures,

- leaving unsaid that which
weakness delayed,
sadly now, a ticket voided
by an eternal expiration moment

the lost boys of opportunities
who live in the endless hell of
isolation in the Never-to-be-Land

- the right course we chose to
unsee

- that person we should never have
let go of

- for the easier, less costly,
charm of the error self-deceptions

- the damnable accursed if-onlys,
visible only in the rearview mirror of dreams
that with nightmare blended,
now can only go
one-direction,
forward

- attempt escaping,
both slow and quick,
from the maximum security prisons
built to be inescapable,
where you offer yourself
daily meals of only the stones of pain,
hopes skin-scratched off
as irretrievable lost,
poisonous diet of radioactivity

you own these regrets and
do not deny,
letting them go to partial freedom
even harder,
even worse,
now, when compared
to the bitterness of the
of original errors past committed

no absolution-complete,
these persistent insanities,
found in our possession,
unable to be defeated

and yet,
the thought,
a passerby muttering,
perhaps
by sharing, ours, yours,
mine,
we will uncover where the yellow brick road
to redemption commences

~~~
have oft confessed

the sadness of the
loss of living children, ex's,
who cannot forgive mutual trespasses

wasted anger that won't cease,
bile-ing and piling up,
like ten pound weights ankle permanently fastened to
the bitter buds of your tongue

the security of every wrong fork
incorrectly chosen,
calculating, over-valuing,
safety over risk

for within the chances untaken
lived the far better possibility
of a life without regrets

struggle everyday to
not allow the days
tween the first and the thirtieth,
to infect
the 31st day

this monthly maker reserved for
confession and atonement
and forgiveness granted by pardon
by you,
the one absolute ruler

for sentences that already deserve release,
if only for time served

all ready for forgiving,
and if yet still deemed unforgivable,
be eased by the the finer quality of
the humanity of
the overlooked blessing
that in the
never forgetting,
are deep buried in the roots of
caring...

~~~

October 31, 2015
7:10 am
NYC
http://blogs.webmd.com/art-of-relationships/2015/10/burdened-by-regret-how-to-break-free.html?ecd=wnl_men_102615&ctr;=wnl-men-102615_nsl-promo-4_title&mb;=zNOFoqgNPBRY1krNNKlXzhXFE73IOX1cv%40KF%2fM%2fVd7s%3d


You carry the weight of a regret – maybe even a bundle of regrets – that you just can’t seem to put down. Perhaps in your more honest moments, you think you don’t deserve to let it go. By carrying it around, you feel you’re doing a kind of penance. But somewhere inside you realize that carrying it around is not doing you or anyone any good. It’s not making the situation right for others. And, it’s not making you a better person. Still, walking away from the regret seems impossible and, perhaps, irresponsible and uncaring.

This dilemma is more common than you might think. Being human practically comes with a guarantee that you will do things you regret. Even if you haven’t been able to move on, others do. They find a way to come to terms with their regret, freeing them to enjoy life. You can do this, too, if you choose to face your actions and the human error behind them.

If you struggle with regret, you may have already taken a step in the right direction by taking responsibility for what you did or didn’t do. It’s important that you acknowledge this responsibility – or “own up to it” – without making excuses for your mistake. It’s okay, and even important, to understand the reasons for your actions, but that does not excuse you.

At the same time, though, it’s important to balance “owning” your actions with acknowledging and accepting that you’re simply human. Everyone has limits. There are some things you can’t, or simply don’t, know – that’s just part of being human. And even when you do know better, you will sometimes make errors in judgment. You will, at times, act emotionally and irrationally. You have weaknesses and flaws and you will make mistakes.

Think about the friends, children, or other family whom you accept and love despite their imperfections. Your acceptance of them as human is the same feeling you need to practice for yourself. Because, in reality, your mistakes are a testament to your humanity, not your failing as a person.

Even as you come to terms with your regret, you will still feel upset about it – whether that means you feel guilty, sad, or some other emotion.

Here are 5 steps you can take to help you start working through those feelings.

1. Don’t deny or suppress these emotions. Allow them in. They are part of you. Just as you would soothe an emotional child, choose to soothe yourself.

2. Tell yourself that you will be okay. Act compassionately toward yourself. You might go for a hike in the woods or take a long, hot bath.

3. Reach out to a caring and supportive friend who can help you feel better.

4. If you can, make amends. Say you are sorry. Do something kind for the person you hurt.

5. If that’s not possible, you might commit to helping others in similar situations. For instance, if you realize that you haven’t been there to help loved ones through troubled times, you can choose to help those  in need now.

Maybe those you’ve hurt will forgive you. Maybe not. Maybe it’s less about what others think and more about your own disappointment in yourself. Whatever the regret is that you carry, you are ultimately responsible for lightening your own load. You must see that you are more than just the mistakes you’ve made.

You may never feel good about the thing you regret. But you can still feel good about being you.
s Jul 2020
do you ever feel horribly misplaced..?
or unsettled..?
like you don’t belong here
but not “here” as in location..
but “here” as in breathing/living..?

I shouldn’t have been born tbh.
I used to wish I was dead.
but now I just wish I had never existed in the first place.

growing up my parents always
told me that I was a “surprise”
but as I grew up I learned that “surprise” actually meant “mistake”

they weren’t planning on another kid.

but my mom forgot to take her birth control one day and then oops..
I came 9 months later.

me and my brother are only 16 months apart.
my mom had four kids in five years by the time she was 25.

she was young
she was tired.
and I can’t help but think that maybe if she wasn’t so tired, from the three kids.. that she wouldn’t have left her birth control pill untaken that day.
and then maybe, just maybe..
I wouldn’t be mistaken as a surprise
when I was obviously a letdown.
I just wouldn’t exist at all.
Sad
There is a greatness in your form
The way you carry yourself around
Like you're the beginning
And the end
Of every sentence.
There is a cruelty in your eyes
And how they cut me down
Around every corner
And under all the moons and suns
We've seen together.
There is a kindness to your body
Like it has covered all it's bruises
And learned from its mistake
Of trusting you with it.
And there is ****** on your lips
When they join with mine
And I feel my life ending
With every untaken breath.
Joel Frye Jul 2015
Shopworn covers, brittle pages,
faded, handled carelessly -
dime-store dreams locked up for ages
in the musty library.

Risks untaken, words unspoken
stacked in cornered memories
beside the shelves that hold the broken
spines of bound-up fantasies.
Joel M Frye Jan 2011
Shopworn covers, brittle pages,

faded, handled carelessly -

dime-store dreams locked up for ages

in the musty library.



Risks untaken, words unspoken

stacked in cornered memories

beside the shelves that hold the broken

spines of bound-up fantasies.
Marshall Gass Apr 2014
Within walls the humdrum echoes
footsteps magnify into monsters
so do journeys untaken, unplanned.
Step by step conquest is mastered
in real motion forward
mountains climbed
distances measured with hard muscle
counted in steps -one by one.

Nothing impossible
to the journeyman

No yardsticks to measure success
even God is a step closer.
Meditate dreams in sequence
until nirvana nears
at the journeys end
and reincarnations materialise
step by step.

Walking on the wild side
lengthens the shadows of darkness
until we fail to see the light
that will lead us back to the beginning
to the first step from where we started.

Step by step
in rhythm with the heartbeat
we all work through life
and onwards into eternity.

Author Notes

Step by Step. ' He who wants to walk the whole world must take his first step'
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Kim Johnson Sep 2014
I took the road the less taken one,
Like poet Robert frost had done,
When excitement and curiousity increase,
Fear and worries decrease.

Less taken road didn't showed me where it leads,
But I handled the thorny bushes and long long weeds,
I made ma way and still walking on  that road,
Taking untaken road gave me burden of load.

Stung by bees result in swollen hands,
Stinky smell and muddied pants,
Cut on my face by thrashing thorn,
Listen!!... Wats dat?? A lion's roar?...


Untaken road frightened me so much,
Even the wild flower closed when I touched,
I knew it...I can never feel like Robert frost,
That is how I took less taken road n got lost...
Sarah Jystad Feb 2010
Laying in the canopy of trees,
Among lush, green branches,
Stretching in quiet addiction.
Offering hundreds of leaves
As an endless sacrifice
Up to the infinite
Ending with a vast void
Full of solace.
Mystery.
Silence.
Finally, the god sighs.
Blinks.
The offering untaken.
The request recycled.
The plea granted.
2/04/09
Devan Ducasse Jul 2017
When starting to date me
Please be careful
I’m very fragile and sad
And I’ll take everything to heart
I think I’m the worst
Even though I know I’m not
So don’t trust my smile when I say
“I am pretty”
I think I’m horrible
Unlovable
No matter how many friends I have
Or how many relationships I’ve gone through
I will never think you love me
Or even like me
Because you’re only putting on a facade because you know I’m sad
I know you’re pitying me
Everyone does
I dont have real friends
Boyfriends or girlfriends
They’re all just pity

So when you start to date me
Please dont be offended when I start to hide away
You’re getting close to me
And I’m scared of hurting you
You’ll give me your love
You’ll stay up late when I’m sad
You’ll get concerned when I dont answer
Because you think I finally caved into depression
But I havent
I may be thinking about it
Ways to do it
How you’ll react
But I won’t
And I’m not quite sure
And I’m sorry in advanced
Because I will hurt you
I will make you feel worthless
And useless
Because no one understands whats going on in my head
And I’m scared to tell you whats going on in my head

So when you start to date me
You’ll be dating my mental illnesses too
They control my mind and how I think
Even when I know they’re wrong
They’re always right
Understand that I am trying
Even when I’m in bed at 12 in the afternoon
Even when I havent left the house or eaten in days
I am trying to get better
I know taking my meds will help
But I hate knowing that I need medication to feel healthy
I want to feel like everyone else
I want to feel healthy and worthy
But I cant unless I take 35mg of a certain drug
I have to take drugs to feel happy
Even when I’m ‘happy’
I still want to die
I always want to die
On our first date at a restaurant
All I can think about running out into the street and getting hit

When you start to date me
Think again
Because I’m not what you get upfront
I’m not happy
I’m not sassy
Nor am I confident
I am trying to fool you into liking me
Because I know no one else can
I am following societies rules
Because I’m scared of the looks I get if I dont
On my happiest days
I will still go home and look at the pile of untaken medication
I wonder why they give medication to someone who’s suicidal
Also understand that I have planed my death 10 different times
Overdose
Stabbing
Cars
And more
I am not what you think I am
But please play along and pity me
I know it's kind of all over the place but that's what depression is, it's never straight forward.
A de Carvalho May 2012
At the end of my day, looking out my window,
I reflect on the things I did, the friends I met, the thoughts I had.
I regret only what I regret, leaving out so much I could have lived but I didn't.
So many feelings conveniently ignored to make ground for a reflexive and inane life.
So many opportunities neglected and that remained invisible to me.
So much existence trimmed down or that passed by my side in silence –
I was too distracted with nothing and everything to reach out and ****** it and live it.

I’m happy nonetheless, for I realize that life is indeed a show of middling experiences
That arbitrarily builds up or into greatness or into commonness.
It’s the patchiness, the randomness of life that makes it wonderful and lovely.
It’s life untaken by contemplation that flows and grows into something special.
We think too much, for nothing!
Nature doesn’t need your help to follow its course.
You are and you will always be the greatest obstacle along your own path.
Bring down your guard and unwind your mind.
Try to be like the minute sparrow intuitively carrying a twig to its nest.
Let the wind blow, let the sun shine, let the grass grow.

I  believe in a world that I can see, unfiltered  by concepts,
That is touchable and is untainted by the mind.
To think is to destroy things – that’s the sole sake of thought!
I believe in a world that is solid, eatable, drinkable, and can be sensed by the skin.
I believe in a world that can be heard, and pushed, and slapped, and squeezed.
I believe in a world that is uncertain, but that is real.
Don’t come to me with your romantic and impractical ideas that are hazy and shapeless,
That require my gullible imagination, my complicity, and a speck of idiocy, to survive.
I want to stay authentic.  Please, let me stay ignorant and authentic!

My feelings are my thoughts (they are my only thoughts).
I have feelings as a flower has scent and colors.
I don’t want to think about the world.  I don’t want to understand it.
I want to be a part of it.  (To be we don’t need to think.)
I just want to love the world and accept it.  
I want to love it, but I don’t want to know why I love it, nor what it is I love.
I want to love it for love’s sake.
I want to love it with childlike innocence.
Love is always uncomplicated. Remember this,
Love is always uncomplicated.

Calmly, as the oak tree I see in my garden,
I pull back from my window sill and go back to  my life,
To my pointless life, my careless life, my foolish life,
So filled with simplicity, truth, and beauty.
A Thomas Hawkins Oct 2010
so many years behind us
so many that we've missed
spent in company of others
while dreaming of a tryst

our pasts have helped to shape us
and bring us to this day
destined to find each other
as if meant to be this way

just one step remains untaken
perhaps too scared to take a chance?
so as the orchestra of fate warms up
tell me, may I have this dance?
ejrmaguire Mar 2015
The golden orb of sunrise as it breaks the horizon....
The new fragile sprouts on my plumeria...
The fuzzy baby peaches growing. ..
The sweltering heat of the day...

I think of you.....

As I shower with water beading off of me...
As I pass places we once were...
Another song on the radio. ..
As I make plans for the day...

I think of you....

The sunlight in my grey eyes...
The wind in my hair....
The untaken path...
The rustle of leaves....

I think of you....

The purpling sky...
The fiery setting sun....
The blackest nights....
Under a smattering of a million sparkling stars...

I think of you....

I share these with you in unspoken thoughts....
I ache for you in everything that I do...
The simplest of joys...
Unable to be....

I think of you.....

E.J.M.
B J Truax Feb 2020
There are so many roads untaken.
So many paths unwalked.
Footsteps leading nowhere..
Footprints leading everywhere..
Marshall Gass Oct 2014
nature in nature out
frozen in rooms of pink
castles ignored
fairies without fairy dust
spring cleaning prophets
take down memories
faded wrinkled corners
hugging each other
sealing secrets
aligned to symmetries
choices untaken
disciplines forced
age has no reason
take down from pastels
store in archives
remember.

wall flowers?
us reaching across cultures
to embrace newness
tomorrows happiness
taken today.

© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 days ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11694338-Wallpaper-by-Marshall-Gass-noguest#sthash.TW8o0AaA.dpuf
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2015
.
Sun startles the lovers who lie,
Crammed in a single bed.
Once the sun blanketed doves,
Each day a wrap for godlings
And the night was a sea of hope
For the lonely, lost, drowning.
Now the morning is a shroud
That eyes shy away from it,
They look for each other—
Out windows murky into day,
But night never really leaves,
The untouched skin breaking,
The unshared fade of breaths
Untaken, unwound fingers,
Trapped in open rooms
And light revealing,
Cold uncovered,
Lovers in morning.
Moholo Kawahi Dec 2021
Screaming ***** & Volumes of joys ungiven
An uneasy joint & The Waste made to happen
For lost Hedon & pleasures untaken.

...

So,
You, are a high one free of those burdens
A woman of the real and true garden of Eden.
Call me then, and if in Eros you're a brethren,
I'll find a quick way out of the shackles of this den.
DieingEmbers Apr 2012
Let this night my silence seem as one with cricket and with woodland owl
and let my ache of you be one with coyote and with wolves mournful howl
that I by lake and flowing stream could er' compare my flowing tears
as I watch in plaintiff awe as moonlight so softly disappears
for what am I if I am not a part of you and hence apart from you
I too liken of the forest elm and oak bear arms untaken too
so let this night in silent reverie give up but a whisper of hope
as I from beneath your window sigh and to the darkness now elope
for love unrequited stings the heart a double edge
as I my heart though poor it is to your heart pledge
no man er' knew such need and want as I do here
awaiting a chance to love you dear.
ZorbatheGeek Dec 2014
will talk to you tomorrow
she says
the next day begins
with no moment to laze

my pings of "hi"s
have become pangs with sighs
and shes been too busy
to take notice of my craze

one more day. one more night
i keep counting untaken breaths
awaiting her voice and sharp gaze
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2015
Sun startles the lovers who lie,
Crammed in a single bed.
Once the sun blanketed doves,
Each day a wrap for godlings
And the night was a sea of hope
For the lonely, lost, drowning.
Now the morning is a shroud
That eyes shy away from it,
They look for each other—
Out windows murky into day,
But night never really leaves,
The untouched skin breaking,
The unshared fade of breaths
Untaken, unwound fingers,
Trapped in open rooms
And light revealing,
Cold uncovered,
Lovers in morning.
Ris Howie Nov 2013
I'm not a person to you,
my subtleties are lost in a constellation of tally marks,
the strikes against me in your mental map of our universe.

My buttons can’t be hidden from you you’re the one
who tied them so loosely to the cuffs of my sleeves
and the bulk of my 20 cent words form the change in the linings of your pockets,
where my hands used to be.

The pads of your fingers find the freckles on the nape of my neck but the worn feeling of you thumb prints against my pulse reminds me
the pigmentation is no longer cute to you
just another imperfection for the list..

which is running through the front of my brain
like your hands used to run through the creases
of my smile.

It’s the poetry to the empty screen your face used to fill
that reminds me some pills are better off untaken,
and that sometimes empty yellow bottles are filled with the hope that is left behind by the promise
that sickness requires it to be refilled again.

— The End —