Remorse versus Regret
He stands in the fields of prior absolution
His apathy sweeping past him in the swaying grass
He yells in this “so-called” utopia
Breathing in the duplication of his aquaintances
Touching the ground as if to find his former self
Genuine hurt clouded his thoughts as he remembered what he’d done
His eyes were filled with sorrow and they weeped seldom stopping
Or was it guilt that separated him from this fear of exposure – like a cockroach in a dark corner afraid of the light.
An intrusion of another kind of atmosphere, a silencing of the soul.
An aching of the spirit that caused him to lay down in the pastures.
He let the swaying grass move past his flawless face – an irony because he was so flawed.
He let himself be quiet in the stupid utopia – a pleasure driven surrounding.
An artifical solitude.
He inhaled his individuality and stopped seraching for his past.
It was here already, in this stark reality shining down on his hands raised to the sky.
Weeping made his eyes sting and he closed them.
Guilt had overcome him but he didn’t feel regret.
Rather it was remorse of sorts. A refusal to feel had caused him to forget – this solemn cry was all he needed.
This humble sigh of exposure to himself
His amazing past parting the waters for fresh revelation.
Inrustion of grace the climax causing this battle between sorrow and guilt.
Pity buried in the fields of former absolution.