Do you ever think that life could be more?  
That we are sitting,
doing nothing,
that life is passing us by?

Sometimes,
I feel remorse
for having had children so young,
for not having adventured

beforehand.  

I want some adventure!
But all I see ahead of me is

Tameness.

I wish I had had a chance to go out into the

Wilderness

and just lived,
moment by moment.
  
I'm afraid I will die,
regretting that I never once lived.  

(If I were a wealthy man, this might be the beginning of my mid life crisis.)  

What is it called when a woman feels the panic of settledness coming upon her?

There is no name.
  
There is only the feeling of the sameness of days going by,
the aloneness of standing here,
surrounded by routine,
by repetition.

While the desire to jump,
to plunge, into the unknown,
beats steady on in my chest,

and the knowing that

That moment,

That chance,

Has passed me by.

Lately, I have been afraid to write.

**** words.

I watched a video.

and I thought,

"Oh!  I can relate to that!:

I wrote a poem about that once!

Oh! Oh!

(Does this ever happen to you? or is this just a ME thing?)

Once, I loved a man, who never once loved me.
I pined for him both day and night,
But he never once loved me.

He played his song for anyone,
For anyone but me,
And I pined for him both day and night
But he never once loved me.
.
His lips were moist, like ripened peach
And his arms were meant for me,

But he played his song both day and night
For anyone,

Anyone, but me.

As I wandered the dunes of Evermore,
I sought the golden key of light,
Found you there,
In my darkest night.

Now what dreams, these, that drift at night?
They break my bones, reveal a plight,
As star struck wanderers wove their tales,
And sang songs to one another of purest light,
There slipped a crack through the veil.

I hang my head now,
And sing this sad tale.*  

The purest love, born on high,
Did ring our hearts and bind,
Yet faltered step upon the path
Did lose us on our way.

Dim grew the day,
As secrets held,
And puzzles became the way,
Of reading hearts and asking thoughts,
The clouds began to rain.
  
What love is this that sings my heart,
And draws me ever near?
More than mine to have and hold,
Shame brings me to reveal.
  
Slipped and fell upon gentle trails,
Now this love, how it longs!
I read the struggle in my words,
I hear it in every song.

I sing now, to set it right,
To show I know the truth.
My blood it boils, and face does flush,
Yet cannot keep, the love I feel,
With no place here to rest.

I slipped the path,
I slipped the path,
And broke your dearest trust!
  
Words to find to write this time,
Can not ever tell,
The sorrow I now feel,

In losing you,
In losing true,
Losing, losing you.


I loved you so much,
I wanted to see all of you,
Surround you with my love.

I still do.  
I still do. 

How can this be righted now?
Will there ever be a way?

I wanted to speak honestly,
Not darken all your days.  
Not cloud your brow,
Nor break your heart,
Nor cause you any, smallest pain.  
But could not find a way to dwell,
And keep this in my heart.  

You burst upon me night and day,
I've fallen off the ledge.
Barely breathing from wanting you,
It's time you cast me away.

To keep to true,
Keep for you,
Leave me mine,
Leave me behind.

To say I'm sorry, seems so small,
And doesn't heal a thing at all. 
I didn't know,
I didn't plan,
I did not come to steal.
Nothing I can say at all,
Nothing i can do.  

*Losing true,
Losing true,
Losing, losing you.

At night, my dreams are wrapped around you.

Silken sheets,
Sweat,
Sweetly sworn promises.

When I wake,
I seek a reasonable existence,
And you are nowhere to be found.

Lover, I know your hiding ways.
Your solitary existence can never include me.

And I know my dancing dreams can make no sense
In your tragic,  melancholy world.

Still, I dream this silken, sweaty dream,
Where your lonely tears warm my cheeks,
And my cheekiness tears into your loneliness.

I pray this prayer:
That we will both wake up before it is too late.

Whatever other costumes might have been hers for the choosing,
She wore the robe of disenchantment.

She should have been taught,
Truth skates a razor thin line that will slice the flesh from your bones
When you try to deny it.  

The mask she placed upon her face, a tragicomic mockery of belief,
Its blue-black marks tattooing her cheeks,
Were a constant reminder of her mistaken identity of herself,

Mistake.


(And in that moment of stark realization,
Didst thou not ponder the sickening irony of a life gone awry?)