Have to Regret

Small fingers curl around black bars

Gripping with all their might

The sharp edge of keening rises

As the knuckles turn white

No face can be seen

The only voice is that ragged sound

That clenches tight about the heart

Squeezing it all around

It could be a child

With round, cherubic cheeks

And a small, sad smile

As the tears turn to dirt streaks

A woman, perhaps

So delicate and fragile

Her hair ragged and body thin

So whitely contrasting surrounding swill

It could be a man

Gone gaunt from horrid tortures

His body sharp angles and slopes

Using inadequate anger on the curs

It doesn’t matter now

Those hands are still gripping

Yet there’s no opportunity to help

Resolve steadily slipping

Distant thoughts

Of a life and a job

Of a family at home

As easy to walk away as turning the knob

Yet those dirt-covered nails linger

A memory shadowing the back of the mind

Far-away regrets of caring

Wishing that you would have been kind

Some nights, you lie alone

Tossing and turning in your bed

Wondering if that man, woman or child

Is now… dead

The sound of that keening

Rises like a tide

Taking everything with it

Exploding like a landmine

Echoing in everything done and said

Whimpering in the dead of night

Begging you to come save it…

To give it some reason to fight

Yet…

You’re comfortable now

All alone in your bed

Everything comfortable for you

What can you have to regret?