Squandered

Sorrow paints a picture
Of grey splashed on grey,
drowning all the reds,
yellows and greens
that scream of blatant hope.

A twinkle of memory,
casts a comforting glow –
a potent, uplifting mirage
that turns into the
leaden weight of penance.

The past flatters me,
the fragrant smell of future
and the silver ring of love.
Back then, euphoria held me,
I floated lightly as a feather.

Up and up I soared,
happily investing hopes,
dreaming of walks in the park
and the sweet smell of roses –
ignoring the grim portents.

No use to plead for time,
time flies despite my wishes
and reality carts my dreams away
in exchange for bitter bile,
mocking my timidity.

Yet, if I must name a culprit,
I can blame no one but myself.
The dreary certainty haunts me
that it was I who foolishly
squandered my opportunities.