Regrets
Sadly,As I pen this tome,I once again,Find myself alone. When I was young,I had such dreams,I wasted them all,Falling apart at the seams. My life was lived,In parceled moments,The ones I loved,Became opponents. The joy within,That young boy’s laughter,Became cries to the man,Losing what I sought after. What chance had I,Being the likes of me,For who could place value,On a mud-crusted penny. I forlornly watched,As the rose...