I mourn myself, the man that never was.
Wasted breath and empty thoughts, potential always. squandered.
All my attempts have come up wanting, dreams passed to dust.
I am the fading echo, the aftershock of possibility.
For me purpose has fled, lost to an illspent past and uncaring world.
                           by Nicholas Byrley

Another evening with my phone, another poetic musing. I don’t think regret is all bad. Within it there is a catalyst for change, you just can’t let it consume you.

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