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Inspiration Anthology 22a.pdf

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Regret<br />

Kicking curbs when the ticking clocks,<br />

Hurling mad for night has topped,<br />

and it’s too late<br />

to clip the ends, fraying fabrics<br />

of a work’s no end<br />

These, the means to my end.<br />

My undertow is thee:<br />

gulping a mass - the pit sinking low,<br />

where all hopes drop<br />

and I know no stop.<br />

For I left stones unturned,<br />

skin still lining,<br />

numbing the doubt of trips spent hiding<br />

Missing the pieces to, perhaps,<br />

a bittersweet end.<br />

By Daria S<br />

By Eva G (Year 9)

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