The past speaks to me,
And bathes me in misery,
I can't remember the good parts,
Yet I am drowned in memory.
I want to go back to happier times,
A place with better, warmer climes.
But I remember only the art,
The sad images of wasted lives.
Every time I close my eyes,
My life flashes and I descry,
What bitter fruit we harvest,
From the days that are filled with lies.
I can't sleep but for the sound of voices,
Dead voices screaming loud with my mistakes.
I can't eat, or make my choices,
Because of the wrath of sour grapes.
I don't want to change, or to go back,
I only seek the dark,
The oblivion of silence black,
I wish to there I could embark.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
We never have to go back yet we must move forward. Sadly we blame ourselves, yet why? What is done is done. Written well Thomas, keep smiling