At the time the words seemed right
And might of been then
but now
somehow
they don't

Regret isn't something that binds me down
So once I open my mouth
And let the sounds out
They're on their own
A traveling ***
Jumping from train to train
But these jump from ear to ear
Whether or not you choose to hear

The letters I've thrown together were beautiful
Only in my head
And if words could ****
Maybe I've saved some lives
By holding them inside
A self sacrifice
Because they're eating me alive.

shakin and bakin in limbo
now i'm down to my boxers
but please look away
i have but an ounce of dignity left
and that i need for my grave

you only get one peek through the revolving doors
and i need to look my best, sundays best
better than all the rest, but under this skin
who knows what's good enough
maybe a hat

i'm lucky like the fellow in front of me
the line was cut short two men back
The rest were hacked and sacked
dripping all the way to eternities kiln
cremated to fertilize the clouds in the sky

sadly all that's left of this mans tail is the awaking
and the stagnate unanswered question of life
now sitting up and stepping down
rubbing my windows of opportunity
heading north bright eyed and bushy tailed

Late night in deep thought
I can't help but wonder
Cure for my heart I sought
Endlessly, I ponder

What was I lacking?
What didn't I do?
You left me all alone crying
I thought your love was true

Oh, how it hurts my heart
How easily you had let me go
To me — you were the best part
Oh, how I wish you'd know

No matter how much tears I cry
And how much broken poems I write
All I could do is deeply sigh
As your memories come back at night

Tell me how long would it take
For a pain like this to end
I wish you could hear my heart break
For you're the only one who could mend

What is else is there to do
Then wish you to be happy?
Yes. Be happy. Please do.
Even if it's not with me.

raindrops faintly laughing as they prance
                                                along the leaves
watercress dancing gently twirling slowly
                                                          in the creek
a deer’s neck softly brushing like a whisper
                                                           against a tree
the sun is rising in the forest with hushed tones
                                                             of red on green
a brusk barista whose soul is wounded wants to cry
                                                               but bravely greets
the first blush of sweet dawn's morning ignites resplendent
                                                     ­                             things unseen
                                 

©2016janetaylor