A Long Way, part 2
by Richard Vince
It’s the same old story:
Years pass, and still I don’t learn that
I should not regret what led me to
This life that I want.
She was too young and too far away,
And yet somehow she was perfect:
Her eyes, her words, her enigmatic face;
A beautiful tapestry whose threads,
Surely, could be woven into a
Warm blanket of the finest poetry.
It was not to be. She was almost there,
But not quite. I hurt her, as was my way,
And then set about finding another misery.
But oh, the bitter tang of irony.
Ten years he waited, although he didn’t
Know it, to be where I once thought
I could be, but know in my heart of hearts
Was never my place.
It is so seductively easy to be distracted
By beauty past; by opportunities that were
Never really there at all. All the beauty that was
Never mine to behold is etched upon a special
Part of my memory: a gallery of regrets
Where beauty is sadness.
Perhaps my mind’s eye will one day
Be able to look beyond the realities that
Could never have been real, but for now
All it sees are things my real eyes
Posted on 05/13/2014
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