Wasted

It is done,
It is lost; and now there is none.
Reason returns from her walk in her park,
Abandons daydreams and castles in the sky.

Rubies of the past and strange pearls in corals,
Chains of chances and fates unmet,
Grim thoughts of tomorrow and yesterday's luck,
Forever now are treasures of the past.

Arriving quietly, my train stops at last.
And with the violent energy of martyrs and cowards
Welcomes the point of no return and sighs
The fuming hoards of this century's angst.

For it is done; it is lost; it has ended and now the curtain falls
And through the empty roads strange forms shall appear
Shadows eclipsed from the lost, distant years;
Missed chances and failed ideals shall roam the rivers
and bleak countenance in every man's freight.

Will they ever know?
Will they ever notice?
Will they see the signs?
When it is too late when it is lost when all is done
And the only thing that is coming is
The lingering regret of one's wasted time.