I open the book, my sadness ignited,
About so much that was unrequited.
There are endless pictures piled up in that binder,
Each turn of the page a stabbing reminder.
The life that is denied me, the failures I own,
The wrongs that I’ve done, for which I atone.
Those moments in time are memories long gone,
A morning fog disappearing at dawn.
I see smiling faces but instead of joy there are tears,
Anger and regret for the wasting of years.
There’s a hole in my heart that is filled with such pain,
All attempts to mend it have been in vain.
I close the book, I can bear it no longer,
Perhaps next time I will be stronger.
This post was inspired by the Writing 201 (Day 5) Prompt: Fog, Elegy, Metaphor.