Facing The Consequences - Poem by Orlando Belo
Once again I find you in this place of mine,
you come and go whenever you’ve the mind.
I know your appearance here is to hassle me,
and to cause me trauma relentlessly.
You are persistently telling me what to do.
Is there nothing else that would occupy you?
What gives you the right to spy and criticise me,
and judge my life so tirelessly?
I’m sick of the way you question the things I do,
and it’s not as though I’ve asked you to.
You obviously think that I have wronged someone,
and won’t go away until you’ve seen right done.
If I choose to ignore you, you still won’t go away,
you’ll remember your quest until my dying day,
and I suppose on that day you’ll produce a long list,
of all the wrongs I did, and the apologies I missed.
You’ll no doubt remind me of all the dates and times,
and the chances to put things right were obviously mine.
And as I take my last breaths you’ll torment me and say,
“If only you had listened, you wouldn’t have died this way.”
Because you were so anxious to give me a troubled mind,
you never told me of the consequences I would one day find.
Even now, you will not tell me what to expect after death,
except that it’s too late after I’ve taken my last breath.
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