Life passed me by in a million ways.
And the ways it passed me by
are the million ways
both your loves did ignore me:
the million ways patterns repeated, and
stabbed me like cauldrons of volcanic
liquids, sputtering and suppurating on gas fires galore,
over so many years and yores of moments past that
as they rest in passionate embrace, now cold to
the touch of memory mine – memory yours I no
longer know – I can only go
on what I still recall: and I am fatally
wounded; unable to love again.
For the sin of being unable to choose rightly first, yous
chose to make a choice of me last
like ultimate disgrace and repenting at
lying realities: that even the bravery I have fought to show
goes nowhere, anywhere, any more, now.
And life passed me by in a million ways.
And the choices I must live with and the effort I must
make, to take onboard the consequences
of never having loved in a way I would have wanted,
is more than I can even announce: I have lost
the game you chose to engage: I have lost the duel
as fuel to my fears: I have lost all desire, even, any more,
to battle forwards any more.
And that, precisely that, is how life passed me by in a million
places and ways.