Afterthoughts
And I’d sit and think
To myself- just an afterthought-
These Maledictions became addictions
For the weak at heart, with weary words
They cave and dilapidate under their dispositions.
I couldn’t accept it then, and neither now.
A question posed at these jaded memories,
Why does hindsight not reflect the future?
A glass marred with scratches; the silver absent? Blind?
To no avail, to no fruit, they pick not at flowers but thorns.
For all those I care about, I sit and think,
Pondering why not have they saved themselves?
I’m no longer there, and, to my knowledge,
Neither are they.