what the look back reveals...

how alone
we are, in our fragile little worlds
excuses as insights,
selfish "stay shallows", like
pawns, shopped, our pearls

of wisdom for "want it less"
as more here now,
land of fear, of truth,
pleasantries, lies, as "confess"

how easily
we toss each other aside
the laws of love and nature
we simultaneously betray and abide

if it suits the pursuit
in the moment
we own it
and if it doesn't
we shun it
walk past or run it

away, cast out
no time, thought
"last rites" delivered,
with barely even a piss or a pout

label me a failure
and just get on with it..

what the look back reveals..
that's essentially the short,
and everlasting long of it

been plenty wrong about shit
and paid the price, now sick of,
here heart haunted, i sit

wondering...
was i wrong about you?
yeah, "been one too many of those"
stains the magic 8 ball shake,
"yes or no", fuck "maybe", the truth

so lets just chalk it up
to choices, poor, made
seems a lifetime of those
has left me, "the look forward", fade
here i look back and see
you are long gone...
wish you'd stayed

to realize our "world's collide"
all the unexplored moments
the promise of things,
yet to come, shame, we hide

truth,
it saves.

or so they speak,
as in, they say
instead, another autopilot,
"lost life" day

gone, and spent
looking back, and for what?
best, the turmoil, when turned,
within, signs of scars, wounds shown,
when to give up

give in,
another gone,
ever really there?

what the look back reveals
i cannot say,
broken becomes us
well, it seems..

pursuits of self,
glorified

blinded,
the headlights' glare

but never will i forget
the love pour, seen
your indispensable,
"feelings felt" stare

it may have been brief
but yes, it was there

now gone

drown, my insides
alone

I'm aware.

what exactly are we doing here?
says the one who overthinks
but thinks of you, nonetheless

some of us, to detriment
think of others more, "the care"

it's not something planned
i guess, the purpose served
for each of us here,
brought forth, beyond beatings

of the ego, the heart
the mind, little innocence

spared.

bowen hart roselli
14 november 2020
ringwald love