No, I may not return (Can’t? Won’t?) ever.
Yes, that’s destiny, self-scripted/inflicted.
Had I known/written the script, contemplated
The end of the road less travelled? Had I, ever?
Past is not a place to revisit in form bodily.
Past is not a phase to re-live and change.
Past is not a page to rewrite: rich and strange.
Past is past; the slippery sand that slipped dryly
From between the fingers of palm, is lost,
Is gone irretrievably. Has happened irreversibly.
It makes you first and then it does un-make.
What time gives first, it has its ways to take.
So, years of careless days were bait to be happily
Swallowed fast – greedily, unmindful of the cost.