Poetry: The Rush

Stark, faded colors,
Painting me a picture,
The longing for shape,
Of ideas too great.

Tap, tap, tap,
Waiting is a killer,
Damn, get it moving,
We don’t have all day.

As I enter this rush,
The walls are blurred,
Only view is forward,
How many missed turns?

Wait.

Turning back, a chore,
Shame so daunting,
These seconds grow,
Too long, there is no return.

The longing for shape,
Of ideas too great,
Pictures starkly painted,
The colors have faded.

Behind was trampled,
Fueled by self reason,
That of great foolishness,
Wrought upon sorrow.

Losing everything,
Lost so more,
Bleeding by the night,
Gone is the end’s light.

Stepping blindly forward,
Meeting cold paths,
The darkness grows,
Over these crimson regrets.