poetry thursday

what I would have said

I see them down a long hallway,
doors shut tight against the words
I did not say. Behind them are worlds
I will never glimpse. The keys rest
in my belly, swallowed long ago
and left to rust.

Regret is an inimitable sorrow,
that whispers in your ear;
possibilities unclaimed,
opportunities overlooked.
It recalls for me the slight slope
of your shoulders, your hair
brushing your collar,
the back of your blue shirt
that grew smaller as I watched you go.

My tongue was a gold bar
heavy with potential.
With it I could have bought
a human heart, but it lay behind my lips
cold and thick. Silence flowered
from my mouth, formed a thorny bower,
lush and impenetrable. Sturdy vines
crept down the hall, covered the door
and obscured the threshold of hope.

I did not say your name,
but kept it, a gilded briar
as shiny as a new key.