Have you ever shouted across the chasm of time
And begged yourself to take another path?
Wondering what might have been,
Tormented by hindsight’s clarity.
Whether you walk this way or that,
Some seeds will never come to be,
Flowers will wither
And doors will close.
Some choices are made in good faith,
Others clouded with fear and desperation,
Only one path.
No going back now.
You stand at a fork in the road,
Many paths lie ahead,
Choosing one will sacrifice the others,
But choose you must.
That’s beauty of it, you see.
Each of us has a blank canvas
And a multitude of different colours.
Each person’s painting is unique,
Manifested from infinite potential,
Defined by the paints that are not used
Just as much as the ones that are.
How will you paint yours?