A Minefield of Maybes
As I move on
Toward another “new beginning,”
It feels
Ripe;
Ready to be devoured;
Like a freshly picked peach in mid-July;
Soft, yet firm;
Sweet and juicy.
But I have traveled this way before.
And I know all too well
How endless possibilities
Turn into a minefield of maybes.
Where each step
Either gives way to destruction
By my bristling ego —
Or not.
So I won’t pander platitudes
About having “a higher purpose this time,”
Or about “failing forward.”
But I will say this:
Never will I tire
Of trying to harness magic
While dancing
And driving the mine-layers mad.
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