If only

my life were a constellation,

memories glittering still and silent 

as stars hung together in the sky.

 

My life is only 

a fleet of rowboats searching

anxiously for a sudden light

to see upon the surface.

 

If only

opportunities arose willingly

like the sun on a typical day

without the hesitation of a summer's rain.

 

Instead they only

conjure themselves as spells

or mutter resentfully

the sound of a foolish fiddler's tune.

 

If only

decisions came together

with the grace of flocking birds,

forming a constant quilted pattern.

 

Now only

clear choices can be made

on a beaten, broken path

of words unwritten - bravely

looking to the future - 

not the past.