Once again I find you in this place of mine
you come and go whenever you’ve the mind.
I know your appearance here is to hassle me,
and to cause mental trauma unrelentingly.
You never do anything except tell me what to do,
haven’t you anything else to occupy you?
What gives you the right to spy and criticise me,
and judge my everyday life so relentlessly?
I’m sick of the way you judge the things I do,
and it’s not as though I’ve asked you to.
You’ve obviously considered that I’ve hurt someone
and won’t go away until right’s been done.
If I choose to ignore you, you won’t go away,
you’ll remember it until my dying day,
and I suppose that on that day you’ll produce a list
of all the wrongs, and opportunities I’ve missed.
You’ll no doubt remind me of all the dates and times,
and that the chances to put things right were mine.
And as I take my last breaths you’ll torment me and say,
“If only you had listened, you wouldn’t have gone out this way.”
You are always so anxious to give me a troubled mind,
but never bother to tell me of the consequences I’ll find.
Even now you will not tell me what to expect at death,
except that my wrongs should be righted before my last breath.
Orlando Belo
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/facing-the-consequences/
