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A whisper within the tall reeds,
                          as hollow words

echo though those static.


Yet ever word has motion
             on those unmoved.

Yet words can collect upon the cracks.


Weaving untruths between each,
              caressed form.

And still though unmoved.
      I heard the lies that started

as a ripple in a pond.

But made there way through
  the reeds that stood tall.

And I just gazed as the wind told me,
          that no matter the ripples.

A breeze is still made,
      and will pass through,
           the reeds of static

                               whispers.


I cried on the edge,
             knowing
             that I neither had thrown
                                  a stone of lies within

or that I had breathed untruths
that were
                wavering between static reeds.
my highway of regrets (only love poetry)

a transcontinental roadway connecting across oceans,
only in time measured, decades in length, he, distances,
adds daily, mile markers flying in, landing in factual order,
a differentiation, chapter headings, incidents and accidents
regretting the good, the bad, and the very ****

collection of mixte memories, carefree happy, some
funereal deaths, due, & yet outstanding, stone & steel,
miles & kilometers, trips of consequences, many are the
languages, seasons, and faces associated with
regretful tunes of longer agoes, highway markers of regrets

faces mostly all gone, some from this earth dead wet wiped,
some, in faint residuals soapy bubbles of the mind,
undecided if, when to dis- or reappear, or just forever burst;
these pinpricking triggers, some shiny, more rusted, fingers
target images/spheres that over fill the hippocampus

oh god, the greats, regrets, the faces of lovers/escapees,
driving from Genève to St-Tropez, on Route Napoléon,
unknowingly selecting  Bastille Day for our back country tour,
the stone mile markers gave no warning; making history, our own,
upon a yacht in the Greek Isles, the crew, our own, ours to command,
now ashamedly, I cannot remember the faces, names, the  lovers
now, called only with uncoiling sadness,  my own, my owned, them,
whose, when, and why, and how I regret my forgetting

the children lost to bitterness and feud, silenced by a wailing wall
double thick and impenetrable, living in an apartment whose walls
are photo albums of curses and lives poorly acted; oh god, why?
are there no exits on this highway, no rest stops for bad coffee,
we drive slow so the blurry memories seen in HD sharp living color,
all are billboards on my highway of regret,
a poem completely forever incomplete




10/9 ~ 10/10
2019
nyc
this is a poem was commanded every time I hear the words
“highway of regret”
Noura 4d
For a while I thought love an illusion
A mind tricked by hormones and confusion
Then you appeared, with a solution
And I battled my feelings with resolution.
Until you left,
That’s when I knew love
Emotions way too strong to shove
Heartache, a hundred stabs and above
But no regrets fall,
For I now know myself better than ever
So learn and move on I shall.
Preeti Verma Oct 5
Spiraling down the memory lane

With little to no shame

Muses the self esteem quitely

Where’s my gal who once shined ‘oh so brightly’

.

What made her loose the strength

That had earned her praises at length

What made that power she once held

to break into tears that geld

Who would u blame in this situation?

What led her pride to cessation?

Must be her own inability…..u say?

No one can control the thoughts that stray

.

One can ponder that till infinity

But now she is back to sanguinity

That was unexpected….u say?

Well these are the thoughts that stray

.

Worried, Ashamed, puzzled and hurt

What about me?…the esteem blurts

Crawling, Stumbling yet standing

How longer I’ll be the only one sacrificing?

.

The strength never comes from only growing

Sometimes it stems from the breaking

Those little pieces carry the heart aches

Which first quakes, breaks then makes

Let the past be her experience

That will make all the difference

Let the broken esteem guide her

Make her forever 'ohh so brighter’
3 a.m. thoughts (old collection)
My hair grows
Like patience
  drying
Baby's-breath
against my will
  behind my back
Past
yesterday's destiny
  Distanced
jungle long
in time for every
  sunrise and sunset.
I sing about blooming under the same moon. You need a full moon to bloom.
Poetic T Sep 27
I weep for the flowers,
         who have lost the love of another.


when ever petal drops,
               they are alone.

          no longer beauty,
just a stem of
                                            what was....

What if's,
                could they have been
a
    moment of others picking
             sharing the beauty of life..

But alas, they departed in sorrow,
             and now hangs a stem..
with nothing to show but regrets..


Maybe next time.....
Mary Frances Sep 13
That's the thing about having a broken heart.
When the love you felt was true and pure,
it still hurts overtime.
No matter how long time has passed,
the scar is as painful as the wound.
It's a ticking time bomb.
When triggered, you burst to tears.
Crying all the questions and regrets you have over the years.
And sometimes all you can do is breathe in deep
as there are certain pain and tears you try so hard to keep.
Marian Kutra Jun 2017
Days go by,
with morning suns and midnight moons,
as your spirit dances
to an old man's tune.

Life for you,
never so serene has it appeared
until now in your old age,
when you've truly let go.
of what you feared

You've traveled so long,
and you've never stopped,
carrying bittersweet memories
with each golden token you've dropped.
Seen the world,
in its pure beauty and sin,
felt the pain of losing,
in every place you've been.

Yet you continue your lifelong journey,
of finding the unfound,
never giving up on living,
not for any situation or problem,
in which you were bound.

Dreams unfulfilled,
were littered broken in your road,
yet you kept on going
with renewed hope.
For life is not to be regretted,
but to be loved.
For old age is never to be feared,
but to be enjoyed
Jay M Sep 10
Wind whistling
Storm raging
Running through the night

Prowling through the dense grasses
Guns loaded
Cocked and ready to fire
In position
Awaiting the command to fire

A camisado
Bursting into the night
Bullets a cascade
Shells raining down
Crying out into vastness

When all is over and lost
Daylight ends
All turns back
To the time of chaos

Running and screaming
One is numb
Walking when all else havoc
Lost in the madness
Crawling across the ground
Into hiding
Then
Pounding of a skull
Over and over
Yet
There is no marks
Only pain

After the battle
After the war
The private battle scars
Salty rivers flow
Carving canyons
Which soon fade
Back to plains
Found and coaxed out
Wrapped in warmth
Fed comfort
Yet
Internally
It is rejected

Information
Flowing in
A holding of the hand
A little fragile
O the one
Trying to go down
Found and halted
Escaping
Captured and taken
Gone away

Time later
Still haunting
Flashbacks
Festering and consuming
Until nothing is left
But the vastness.

- Jay M
September 10th, 2019
This is my camisado...my personal battle. This is what once was..

*Occasional Verse
Lost Sep 8
I can’t remember the last time
A day went by where
I didn’t think of you

I can’t believe how many months
Have gone by without
You still being
Just a phone call away

I can’t say how sorry
How deeply I apologize
For every single thing

I can’t cry over you
But I still get sad
I think only so many
Tears can be shed
Before you have to put
The thought to rest
Missing an old friend lately. Really, for the last eight months. That’s okay though. This too shall pass.
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