Aug 14

Regret Weighs Heavy in a Pocket

Midas’s greedy eyes
wished for gold.
They settles on a blank canvas
and wished for glittering gold.
He wished so badly
to drip with finery,
drenched to the hollow bone.

When he finally got it,
his touch spread the riches
as if it were a disease,
some beautifully cruel virus.
Enthralled,
he overlooked his losses,
discarded the original value
to revel in his newfound fortune.

In the end,
he sat alone
atop his gold throne,
cursed to be a solitaire king.
He drowned in his greed
and he suffered.

I think I made a wrong wish
too many times,
for my name has fallen from your lips
and I sit alone in bed
waiting to reach out
and touch
one last time.