Friday, 14 March 2014

past mistakes

All the past mistakes I’ve done
Continue to haunt me even when I run
There’s a spot in my heart they burn
And I can’t cool it off even with a fun

I heard most people call it a conflagration
The kind that devours your emotion
It usually goes together with the notion
That your past might in your future be an explosion

The past is, of us, ever a part
Something we can never break apart
It is solely meant to keep thee alert
So we can attain some kinda peace at last

My spoken of is a sentiment
That is considerably permanent
Within the heart its resident
And within the mind it’s reminiscent

Its common to all in our race
But its nothing everyone can face
It at times helps decide on a case
Or at times keep the truth without a trace

The word is lament
Or, more common, regret
It turns us into puppets
That our victims can step on, like carpets.

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