Oh, if we could only go back in time,
A day, a week or even a year,
Know all the pitfalls,
The potholes,
The pratfalls,
See all the bumps in the road
up ahead.
But vision is weak, impaired
if not blinded by
Heart-felt passion’s
irrational rush,
And we keep making the same
mistakes
That leave us to sleep in an
empty bed.
Wellsprings of happiness
don’t merely happen.
They must be constructed of
labor and love.
Truth is the shovel,
compassion the pick so that
When mistakes happen there’s
room to confess.
You could have…
I could have…
We could have been more
Deductive,
Seductive,
Productive at best
In our effortless efforts to
find resolution.
Instead we are left with
another fine mess.
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