Another sunrise and sunset,
another pair of eyes filled with regret.
Who’s waiting for hope and luck to arrive at their front door,
but even if it came who’s to say they wouldn’t still expect more?
And would we even cast any blame,
if you’re angry that tomorrow came?

Time is cruel and time is no friend;
half were in school; the rest trying to meet an end.
As a sun will set a newborn life will fade,
with moments you can’t forget
and one’s you would never trade.
It’s hard not to feel the same;
to be angry that tomorrow came.

He said take a note and give me five
“no one gets out of here alive.”
Who do you want to be for the rest of your life?
“Just a reminder, you don’t live twice.”
They tell me to grin my teeth and bear it
soft demeanor but eyes like a knife.
It’s clear they don’t want me to share it;
my collection of troubles and strife.
They’ve got closed eyes and plugged ears,
talking over each word I try to speak.
While it all feels like endless years,
in truth it’s only been one week.
And the reality of it is actually quite tame
but still you get angry that tomorrow came.

It’s a hazy afternoon with the sun in the sky
and I’m standing in the gloom of someone else’s goodbye.
And I could paint a thousand pictures
and never get the landscape quite right,
just like adjusting and fixing the fixtures
but never obtaining the perfect light.
It seems so insanely mundane,
but I’m trying to not be angry, that tomorrow came.

You can’t cleanse the bad from the good
there will always be residue permanently,
and it’s not so simple to gain some wood
you’re always going to have to cut down a tree, eventually.
Make sure the earth will burn, with an untamed flame
The world continues to turn, regretful that tomorrow came.

the curious cat jumps the fence
game to chase after a butterfly –
to fill its stomach
       perhaps this is my view on love

while the old dog remains in the yard
chasing after its own tail –
hoping to bite onto success
       as this is my view on human regrets.

In slumber's garden, her blossom never sunlight caressing,
My heart, a violin without strings, my soul forever regretting, caesura

A whispered secret, meant for her hearing, now always hiding,
A lyric written without melody, my words forever faltering, caesura

Her sun-kissed strands, fingers trembling, face never revealing,
A piano's keys untouched, longing forever resounding, caesura

Her unshed tears, a sea, my arms empty, never comforting,
A hall deserted, it's quiet forever, sighing, caesura

Our bodies, scattered notes upon a score, never quite touching,
My songs, her deaf stars, never heard, forever yearning, caesura

Gaia's Soothing Haven, on life's edge, forever wondering
Our lost love, like petals, on life's threshold forever blooming, caesura

Hourglass figures; individuals who invest countless hours crafting
a glass figure. When life tosses you around, you’re bound to shatter –
so meagre!

You repugnant creature, crumbling and oozing into this vessel, as
the grains of sand cascade within all the time you thought your
beauty had bought. You gaze at it, chasing the dazzling glow of
notoriety, unaware that such brilliance will gnaw away at your very
bones, leaving you broken and cold.

Within the heart of every renowned star lies a tumultuous inferno,
a labyrinth of madness that serves as your ultimate reward.

Slow burn towards that hallowed kiss,
The months it took to take you there.
Like hope itself upon your lips,
Such joyful lovers bliss.

Short term passion in that fragile time,
The years it took to leave you there.
Love's regret entwines our lives,
So powerful broken ties.

Tom Lefort 2025

the phone - it calls:
my impulse crawls
back to the moment ‘twas
mighty, and strong;

the tv on the drywall -
knows how to stall -
my mind from its prime;
my body from a shawl --

i feel my palms
so cold - and remote:  
the channel shows
a woman in a fur coat;
she looks so sad -
with all she has;
she quits on love,
doesn’t leave a note.

i turn to music;
tune to the rhymes -
my sorrows of the day;
i buy some time:
debt looms over -
menacing, by the day;
volume seeks heed -
i cannot pay.

done for the day,
i put the phone down;  
the screens go dark -
make me look like a clown.
i cannot keep tabs on
on all my regrets, so -
i force the ******* laptop
to shut down.

We met three times
Over fifteen years.
The disagreement paled
In light of his diagnosis.

He unexpectedly appeared
At my door, then stood in my kitchen.
He had a few serious questions
About brotherly affections,
And after spitting into my sink
(the poor man)
He wondered if I thought less of him
For not sending cards at Christmas and birthdays.
Is that what he came to say?

Next was at our last family wedding.
He was still steady on his feet.
We were five Irish lads.
The sisters said he was the handsome one.
He was.
There are six of us posing in this final shot.
He's wearing a Lucille Ball tie,
Losened around his neck,
Yet covering the gill-like scar
Running from lobe to lobe.
His hands are buried deep
In his pants' pockets.
His smile says Good-bye.

I saw him for the last time
A few weeks later,
Standing, bent and coughing
At the intersedtion of the roadway and Nature Trail.
His rib cage raging from contortions.
He waved off an offered ride.
And then he was gone.
It took us years to get here.