Regret

[nayish]

Oh, were to err, not a human thing
What would life be
Were it not for that tiny flaw
That meanders in one's mind
As a whisper, a tendril
A strand of spiders' silk
Regret

Should we be fortuitous
In our ability to grow
And move beyond
That hairline fracture
This would be, of course
An infinitesimal monument

Oh but how many can truely say
With surety, that a thing as such
Would reap benefit o'er dissolution?
It is, I say, but a double edged sword
Regret