Sometimes the yeses and nos and the hopes and fears of our past rise from our subconscious in a haunting fashion. They do so with a will of their own.
The grey-green mists of maybe
Swirl with hints if regret and expectant yearning.
Half formed purple shadows of almost-feelings,
Maybe-fears and hesitant-words, touch the surface
Of life’s mire, as a hanging guilt.
Regrets bubble as now-thoughts
Releasing the slow-burning hopes
And loves not found,
Yet, not lost, in those unplanned moments
Of life long-lived.
