I regret the days that passed
the years that flown.
When inspirations come and cast
I let them blown.
I regret the days I did not write
the things my eyes have seen.
Tales and poems that could have been
I let them all passed my sight.
I regret the times I remember when,
I did not care to hold a pen.
To tell and write down what I can
before my fantasies come to end.
I regret to forgot, I really do,
a writer in me whose next to you
may not be so good but I always knew
I’m very much in love so dearly, too.
- october 31, 2009 6:40pm