Regrets

Poem Info
289 words
4.83
3.3k
0
10
Poem does not have any tags
Share this Poem

Font Size

Default Font Size

Font Spacing

Default Font Spacing

Font Face

Default Font Face

Reading Theme

Default Theme (White)
You need to Log In or Sign Up to have your customization saved in your Literotica profile.
PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here

My heart bled there,
bled back,

[Her arm spilled from their bundled embrace,
fingers mild-curled,
her hanging, homeless, sleepsoft hand
close to sidewalk scruffy concrete, wet,
passing boots kicking confined-close rainy
cars glisten nightlights on the ground.]

bled back
all the way home.

[Her puffy pale lips—sleeping lips with angry
pocked, red-ravaging pimples on her cheeks
and behind the scraggy, fringing dash of hair—
stilled me.
Her colour confined to pimples old and new
scattered across pallid skin.]

My heart bled itself to a light limpness,
quiet thoughts for their situation,
and, feeling limp, the pain was soft enough to bear.
‘But they,’ I wrestled, ‘What, to them, is my quiet pain?’
How is my actualized, cultivated sensitivity
to bring succour to their swamped and alienated lives?

[Sleeping close to the storefront wall, protected
by awning as windblown wet splashed
its progress across the concrete, they touched me.
He, hooded, head and shoulders curved protectively
framed her upturned face upon his lap.
Her face, lay numb and open on his lap.
Behind them, against the wall,
the ancient dog who shared their homeless household slept
to escape his aching age.]

My heart bled
me quite limp and useless to these people.
Slumbering, they brushed my soul,
knowing only the cold and hunger that would soon awake them.
Compelled, determined, I went back to buy them
warm and meaty soup.

[The sidewalk, wider now, and easier to traverse,
showed empty where they had lain.
Empty, but for a projected disappearing aura
of lightweight life their bodies had implanted in my mind.
Nervous police had led them stumbling away.]

My heart bled right there; bled right then
for people who'd lost their right to sleep.
Bled black for my idle thinking.

Please rate this poem
The author would appreciate your feedback.
  • COMMENTS
10 Comments
lorencinolorencinoover 4 years agoAuthor
The source

Not the content, but the style of this poem grew out of my admiration for the poet, Gerard Manley Hopkins.

WickedEveWickedEveover 15 years ago
~

I wanted to read your work and I'm amazed. You write beautifully!

WhiteWave48WhiteWave48over 16 years ago
Shocking photographs

I loved the structure of this poem with your bracketed sections. To me they were like glimpses of an event as if done by a photo journalist - a series of video clips or stills. These scenes of death made more sense of the interspersed links showing your own heart bleeding as you tried to take the blame for your helplessness in the situation. Of course further crafting can tighten the work, but I find this version compelling as it is. There's more to discover.

twelveoonetwelveooneover 16 years ago
*

Agree with Angeline, only adding this, cutiing back the brackets even further.

UnderYourSpellUnderYourSpellover 16 years ago
~

So very sad ... reminded me of the photographer who took an award winning photo of a little boy in Africa but didn't think to help him at the time.

AnonymousAnonymousover 16 years ago
Thoughful

A very emotional and touching poem.

AnonymousAnonymousover 16 years ago
Sad but True

This piece made my heart bleed. I loved it because it was so gritty and true to life. I hated it because it made me feel sad, but I suppose that's what real life sometimes does.

TathagataTathagataover 16 years ago
Interesting style

I agree with Ange, perhaps shortening it would strengthen the over all inpact, but i love the word choices and how they are put together;

her hanging, homeless, sleepsoft hand...

sleeping lips with angry

pocked, red-ravaging pimples on her cheeks...

He, hooded, head and shoulders curved protectively

framed her upturned face upon his lap.

Her face, lay numb and open on his lap.

Behind them, against the wall,

the ancient dog who shared their homeless household slept

to escape his aching age.....

All wonderful images and the have an urgency, or immediacy about them.

Hope to read more by you.

Good work

Thanks for sharing

champagne1982champagne1982over 16 years ago
~

You've captured tragedy with your pen. You tell us about her acne ravaged face, but I'd like to have a better look at the circumstances that invented those scars. I understand squalor and the meanness that invades the street, but not from your poem. Show us, how did it smell, feel, taste to you? I love the bleeding which to me was, at first, evocative of a murder, which in a way, I suppose the homeless feel like homicide victims at times.

Thanks for sharing. It's a good poem.

AngelineAngelineover 16 years ago
Interesting and articulate!

I like the way you've separated the narrative action from your reaction to it with brackets. It creates a clear path through the poem. I do think you should try to cut it back some. You write beautifully, but I wonder if the statement wouldn't have more impact if it were more restrained. Just a thought--whether you change it or not, it's good writing and I look forward to reading more by you. :-)

Share this Poem