Sometime the past is too much to bear..........

Confessional

Words come easy in your embrace.

Flowing like the pen on parchment,

The confessional begins scraping forth past agonies.

There are no recriminations here as the tears flow

In post-winter thaw that heralds the early spring flood.

The snowdrop comes to pay its yearly respects.

They know nothing of the past,

Only the future can they comprehend.

They have no need to fathom the

Desperate depths of our ages.

That is for us to punctuate

With our remorse.

So, when the spring flood turns into

Summer tranquillity through to autumn expectancy

Waning to gloom,

Shall we again contemplate winters atoneable regret?

That while so young we forgot to watch

The snowdrop and its simple life develop as a lesson

For our eyes.

Ah, the folly.