Mud on my shoe (a poem about regret)

Muddy, Moldy Shoes

Muddy, Moldy Shoes (Photo credit: keristars)

I walk alone.

Sometimes the day is sunny.

Sometimes the day is cloudy.

Rainy.

Thunderstorms loom and threaten.

But, alas, there is no umbrella

to shield me

and to shield

the turbulent storm in my heart.

The dismal weather matches my fluctuating mood

of melancholy and regret.

 

The puddle looms but I don’t see it.

Am I weary rose-colored glasses?

Perhaps.

Sometimes a girl can only see a puddle

when she is already in it.

Such is life. Such is love. Such is heartache.

 

Mud clings to my shoe.

Tenacious.

Uninvited.

Bitter and lacking any mirth.

The epitome of my regret.

I try to scrub it off.

Still some mud lingers

maddeningly

mud

mud (Photo credit: Jared Kelly)

and it seems

nothing I can do will change that.

Mud intertwines with my regret.

Hindsight is always 20/20,

so they say.

I sadly agree.

 

You live and you learn.

So true.

Mistakes will be made.

It is inevitable.

Unfortunately,

growth often involves pain,

mistakes,

and heartache.

Some mistakes are cleansed by the cool touch

of healing waters

while others seem to fester like open sores

and linger on

and on

and on.

Thus, like the mud on my shoe,

these mistakes are not cleansed,

nor are they forgiven.

Regrettably.

 

Forlorn.

I walk on alone.

Hoping for a sunny day

and perhaps

a rainbow

or a moon

and a starry night.

Vincent van Gogh, The Starry Night. Oil on can...

Image via Wikipedia

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