Opportunities arise, my demise,
to choose what can’t be known.
It’s all so old, the story untold,
to playback with each new breath.
I don’t know if it’s right or wrong,
to ask what is not here,
so I decline nine
times out of ten,
because here is where I begin.
It’s not to say
I don’t dream and wake,
but to know too much
feels a mistake.
Imprisoned by a future
of what could be,
when could be
isn’t all
up to me.