Too Late for Regret
The shadows stretch across the floor, a cold and concrete cage,
The final chapter written now on life’s embittered page.
A man sits hunched in silence where the heavy silence dwells,
The king of nothing, ruling o'er a kingdom of small cells.
He counts the stones, he counts the bars, he counts the wasted years,
But all the water in the world can’t wash away his fears.
The clock upon the distant wall is ticking like a debt,
For mercy’s sun has finally set; it’s too late for regret.
It started with a simple thrill, a teenage, restless heart,
The sliding doors of grocery stores where he would play his part.
A candy bar, a pack of gum, a trinket tucked away,
The rush of blood, the secret win, the games he chose to play.
His mother saw the shifting gaze, his father felt the lie,
They begged him: "Walk the narrow path before your youth goes by."
But counsel was a heavy chain he sought to cast aside,
With arrogance for armor and a jagged sense of pride.
The stakes grew high, the pulse grew fast, the darkness took its hold,
He traded in his innocence for silver and for gold.
No longer just a shoplift thief, he walked the midnight street,
With iron tucked against his waist to make his power fleet.
He’d corner strangers in the park, beneath the moon’s cold light,
And steal the safety from their souls in the middle of the night.
The firearm was a heavy weight, a cold and lethal friend,
He never thought his chosen road would find a bitter end.
