The Wait

I read of poets past
with infinite belief
moments come upon us,
often urging we repeat:

Confusion
Regrets
Joys
Happenings,

lessons learned from life,
retold by she, him and them,

possibly, even me.

Asked to compose again,
so that maybe this time
experience will prove, we feel.

If,
probably,
what occurs,
this time,
just isn’t chance
but a path, prepared,
for us.

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