I often have a fear
Of great potential,
And various direct paths
That all meet an ambitious end.
It places great concern
In my heart and in each day.
I look back in the midst of a path
That I chose but that morning,
To come upon (yet again)
The tragic realization
My direction was no more
Than another hope of escaping.
And with every sunrise
I put myself together again.
A smarter mind I insist myself
That has learned it’s bitter lesson,
And then comes upon dusk.
I am, as expected, in shambles
Appalled that (yet again)
My clever mind has so fooled itself.
Pathetically enough even after this expression,
I’ll surely again start tomorrow the same.
And in the midst of whatever path lies ahead,
The end always is the place of which I came.