Sometimes I lay and think to myself:
Thinking of the opportunities that may have been.
What may have been becomes a memory:
Always seeking, but never finding the way in.
Now I can only think and wonder
If things would be any different.
I must accept what fate has brought.
I have no control over what could be different.
I thought for a second, my wait was over:
It seems my wait shall carry on.
Endless is this quest for satisfaction:
Distance is now what breaks the bonds.
There is no escape from what will become:
What shall be is what shall be.
I helplessly watch the wind unlight the candle:
What I want to be, will not be.
Still I linger in these same patterns,
Attempting to alter what’s to come:
What’s to come is only a mirrored image
Of what is now and what makes me numb.
Still I feel the pain of hope’s falter,
Stumbling over the roots of forest trees.
Now we must depart across fields of green,
As I come to acceptance with the love that won’t be.