my mostly uneventful past,
my shoulders stoop at,
the burden of regret.
A guilt ridden existence
at the passing of time,
Like a wounded soul at
the thought of no return.
No turning back and
righting the wrongs
No second chances at
this seething juncture.
The ring of finality
the numbers shan't lie,
Shan't recede only
way is forward.
Unafraid, if I were
grab I'd the bull,
by it's cliched horn
Alas, I but mourn.
For today’s prompt, write a guilty poem.
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