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.