POEM 15

If only I had known, but who can discern the future, who can know the right answer?

I was poised on the brink of my dream. I dipped deep into its well and was afraid to take a drink, even a sip.

I perceived my thirst to be false, misleading me into a spiritual void. I robbed myself, I betrayed my own trust.

If only I could go back and shirk this wretched caution telling me lies, making up tales.

You can’t go back; you can’t decide to take the chance, to join the crowd.

I was ungrateful for that wondrous chance.

For what is gratitude but a cool crystal stream to dip yourself, to immerse yourself in

it’s baptismal waters of thankfulness. I fear I have aged out of the opportunity.

Once no slips past your lips it lingers in the air taunting your stupid choice laughing like a clown.

You can’t go back again, you can’t savor that sweet choice again. There will be other doors, other trains to take from here.

Or will there be? Time only knows–time only tells.