I visited your grave today
in swirls of fog and memories grey
And as I calibrate the twists and turns I must confess-
at best, I lost my way; worst, I kicked the goads

The fog shifts and lifts to expose decaying cement shrines
like monoliths rising out of miry clay seeking the warmth of the sun
and perhaps, in their inside voice, beseeching a brighter day

I glance at dead things of days past mocking what could have been
Days that remind with the rewind memories are not my enemy
but choices can be my friend
And always, always the steadfast refrain…
you can begin again

I grit to resist screaming obscenities at the headstone and that finite lengthening dash
even as futility stills my tongue and lessons learned warn of potential backlash
Instead I use my inside voice lest I disturb the sleeping- or worse
wake the dead

And I think, some things truly are best served cold
honesty and the inevitability of growing old
so one doesn’t forget the heat of a lesson learned
Nor the freezing burn…

And like,
regret can seal a tomb in moments and guilt can only raise an ugly child
untutored in The Way and left to navigate the wild
without compass towards mortality and, not so trifling

I draw a sigh and raise my eyes, hardness of heart without a weep
Like peeling paint on a an old barn door cracked by scorching heat
and oh the damage…neglect and self-deceit

Even now when I silence the inner screaming, I hear the reverb like brittle leaves underfoot
Catching the glee of wintry winds cackling at my discontent
and momentarily- I’m sad I went

But I reason hindsight deserves a glance of recognition
for what she gave and lost and gives in silent admonition
It’s a universal unilateral condition to
count the cost

I close my eyes in solemn reflection
leave things unsaid better left to correction
Because words often exacerbate untimely resurrections
of things better left to the dead.

On silent thoughts I reverse direction
move away from regret’s debilitating connection
reflect I regret many if not most choices
and grudgingly accept hindsight’s burn

Cause if salvation only comes by exodos of a grave
best leave no stone unturned



Burning A Memory by Dana Marié Borbely
“I once owned a diary that I wrote every regret in….”

*Featured image credit:


2 thoughts on “Regret”

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