On Reflection

Periodically each day I pause,
consider the world around me:
strapped as I am in my
steel Ford cage going somewhere
that could be anywhere,
yet only where I decide to be;
and here I am again,
walking through a treed countryside
yet suddenly, there are black and white sneakers
dangling from overhead wires.

And there I go:
struggling in front of years
of guilt and shame,
and wasted opportunity,
and forfeit love;
and there I go again,
with self-condemnation,
even my unspoken intonation
mimicking speech patterns.

From, ""Here I am," to, "There I go,"
and back again and again
in a once besotted brain
that now remarks more on the obvious.
We all go toward something
taking mental notes and past along.
I think it has become too late
to rethink things.