I told you I was sorry.
These hills roll away to endless blue,
and from miles off I can hear the roar
of heavy surf.
Big waves, no wind —
everything mocks my idea of freedom.
In fact
this vast view
is crushing me, its beauty
like swelling movie music that stresses
every chance I’ve ever lost,
every one I’ll keep losing.
It’s already so late.
How can we go back from here?
Starting now, starting yesterday, I want
to reset my life, far from this place
I’ve gotten lost in — the easy path
turned out to be a consequential mistake.
I am more deeply sorry
than you can understand.
If only I’d known.
Now that I do, I can’t breathe,
and the world we were living in
is gone.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 24, Issue 5.
Morgan Reed has worked in industry in the Midwest, education at the Sorbonne, and multimedia and fine art painting in California. With a lifelong interest in foreign cultures, he has also done research and translation in French, Italian, German and Chinese. Poetry has been part of his life since childhood; he recently returned to writing it.
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