Regret

There’s a dog that sits on the end of my street—

he barks at anyone that nears,

snarling teeth that glow shiny in the afternoon light. 

There’s a dog that sits on the end of my street—

I am not a poet 
I don’t know how to use my words the way they can
I can’t captivate the minds of my friends by stringing them along with the simplest of words 

I am not a musician 

I stood in the crowd 
My feet cemented to the ground 
Just basking in the light of something that would slowly fade 

I could hear the high pitched ringing 
A reminder of a past days sacrifice