each day is a poem the hours spell
each a chance for peace within ourselves
every line’s an opportunity for eyes without a bruise
but opportunities passed on just pass on through
time lost is a short road to regret
looking back is all a moment wasted begets
I can’t reach the clock to turn back the hands
I can’t reach back and have the time again
when did I become
so unsighted to today
when did I start to shove my spirit away
when did I become so anger-torn and frayed
when I forgot the pains that cut like a knife,
how regret and anger can burn a life
each day is a love song of a heart feeling well
each a love story the moments tell
every word a chance for our selves to be soothed
but opportunities shunned just slide on through
time wasted is a long fall into regret
longing for the moments lost and squandered and spent
I want to reach the clock to turn back the hands
I want to turn the glass and return the sands
when did I become
so naive to the gift of today
when did I start to throw opportunities away
when I forgot the pains that have been my strife,
the regret and anger that have burned my life
the sands, they only fall
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 10:21 PM UTC
each day is a poem the hours spell
each a chance for peace within ourselves
every line’s an opportunity for eyes without a bruise
but opportunities passed on just pass on through
time lost is a short road to regret
looking back is all a moment wasted begets
I can’t reach the clock to turn back the hands
I can’t reach back and have the time again
when did I become
so unsighted to today
when did I start to shove my spirit away
when did I become so anger-torn and frayed
when I forgot the pains that cut like a knife,
how regret and anger can burn a life
each day is a love song of a heart feeling well
each a love story the moments tell
every word a chance for our selves to be soothed
but opportunities shunned just slide on through
time wasted is a long fall into regret
longing for the moments lost and squandered and spent
I want to reach the clock to turn back the hands
I want to turn the glass and return the sands
when did I become
so naive to the gift of today
when did I start to throw opportunities away
when I forgot the pains that have been my strife,
the regret and anger that have burned my life
the sands, they only fall
Request permission to use this poem