Regret
10/7
What use are you, creeping sorrow?
What purpose do you serve,
Leading me to the stone-written past
To wish for an editor's penstroke?
Useless though you be
Nevertheless, a wreck you do make of me
Defying logic's attempt to hold mastery
And though I thrash and struggle
I cannot get the best of thee.
I believe it true; an alternative universe exists
Or perhaps many, or merely several,
Wherein all life's potential outcomes
Play out as the strands of an unravelling tapestry.
In life, we hang from but one of these,
And cursed regret be our desire to hang from another,
Hating the events that there denied us.
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