(a repost,slightly revised)




Drinking Sunday

 

Life is an anomaly
forcing the annullment of
physicality's perfections.

Forgiving the fog
that houses the flaws,
appeasing a gulf-

Animosity bids farewell
to the lost potential,
in a dead acorn.





Poetry by melanie sue
Read 595 times
Written on 2011-01-15 at 01:17

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countryfog
What might have been . . . as it did Jim, the last stanza evokes a sad recognition of regrets I try to not think about. I think as one gets older and then old, the greatest regrets are not the things we did that we wish we hadn't, but things we wish we had done and didn't. Other than admit, apologize and hopefully be forgiven for things we did, I find it impossible to forgive myself for the things I should have done.
2011-01-15



I remember the earlier version very well. This is honed, this is fine. I cannot tell you how effective it is, the last stanza, I don't know how to express what it brings to mind, or how to critique it, but it is a perfect piece of poetry. I feel like a part of my history is laid out in those words, the sad part.
2011-01-15