The dreams of me chased the years
from my paths.
Directions wrong turned.
The failing of doors to open.
Places I should have risen in,
claiming the rights of me,
applauding with hands upon
my arrival.
Lights left on. Messages unanswered.
Towns without names or faces
familiar.
The roads I know have beaten
their tar into me.
Choices have taken the best of me.
Roger Singer 