Was I a mistake that was supposed to be made?
An errer, that stays on the poems scribbled page?
A smudge on the window that clouded your view?
Was I in the end nothing to you?
Was I a mistake in your life's theory?
A bump to your roads comfort?
An odd taste to your minds meal?
Is that really how you feel?
Was I a mistake when I made you smile?
An unwanted presence when I held you tight?
A stain on the rug, faded, covered over?
Was I the reason your days felt slower?
Was I a mistake to your heart's desire?
An unwanted image in the mornings hour?
An annoying pause to your motivation?
Are you hurting from our separation?
Was I a mistake before I left?
An inconvenience to be putting up with?
A rodent, that avoided all your traps?
Was it ease to adapt?
Was I a mistake that tears you apart?
An itch that's hard to scratch?
Are there any amends I can make?
Or was I just a mistake?
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Author:
Maplespal (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 23rd, 2024 04:53
- Comment from author about the poem: A question I don't want answered but have to ask.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 13
Offline)
Comments1
People will come and people will go
The sun will shine bright
Humans will feed from spite
And flowers will always grow
The circle of life will never change
There is always an end and a start
And tho it might feel strange
Don’t shatter your own fragile heart
Perhaps you were not a mistake
But a lesson they needed to learn
how souls and bridges can burn
and how easily promises break
And that love is always hard to earn
So keep creating art and give yourself a chance for a fresh start
old and living
waiting for the end
in my mind past is living
writing what I forgot to send
old and reviewing
kind words from a stranger
come to this site for other views
like your words, my minds rearranger
people come and go
shine bright they will
the view the flowers fill
through art we all grow
change the circle of your will
the start will have its end
create your note press send
the words, emptiness they fill
mistakes are fine perhaps
learned lessons started somewhere
creating poems, editing, and share
crafted from fragmented word scraps
written inspiration for hours I stare
thanks for the words you allowed your electronic pen to speak.
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