We All Die Haunted

We all die, haunted

by the chances we did not take,

the alternative life, unlived.


The iron bed rusts

from the love we did not

make in it.


The summer rain pours

though we never took time

to stand in it.


The unfinished novel lies

gathering dust in the drawer

because we abandoned it.


We all die, haunted

by the chances we did not take,

by the safety we chose instead.


0 comments

Recent Posts

See All
© 2021 by Brooke Davis