The sweat sticks to my skin
like fleas to a sweet
as I lay on my deathbed
it coats every exposed inch.
Slowly, a nebulous thought strikes,
from deep within my conscious,
'Would this be my demise,
just a shell, without any purpose?'
What a fool I was
to be satisfied with the mediocre
to be just enough,
and not wish for more,
To move ahead without hiccups.
It was easy, sure it was
not a hurdle came my way
but is that not the greatest regret
that I just moved on ahead?
I miss and regret that I did not fall
That I turned into a sheep
and the herd,
just moved me along.
Funny, is it not
that my regret is the lack of failure
but we must face and fear,
that without it we are nothing but mediocre.
Let my remorse,
not become yours.
Allow my words,
to shred and bite your soul,
for without critique, we are afterall,
unable to grow.
------------Silver_driftwood
A.N.
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Poetry"Oh little siren, charmer of the seas with voices of elegance sailers, you please the scepter of beautiful songs you shall wield listening to your euphony my heart bleeds. Such is the carnage in your melody that even in death I shall whisper your l...
