Lament

Caught between
yesterday’s convention
and tomorrow’s probability means
no room for lament

Those strong anchors lost
to a neap tide create disputations
and restlessness – there
is no easy redemption

Even knowing the right words
provides no extra oxygen
– although I don’t aspire
to more than I need

Mind you, I’m not shouting
resentment on street corners
of your good nature – should I
abide by your rules?

If a figment of my imagination
why take it seriously? There’s no
need to regret what is gone
to justify being alone
© 21 May 2010, I. D. Carswell