I look back at the places where I’ve been
And only see the ones I never went to.
I’m told how much I’m blessed, but hear the sin
Of failing to accomplish what I meant to.
I feel regret for missteps, like each towed
Me down a path that led to imperfection.
But one step won’t put me on the wrong road
Unless I choose to walk in that direction.
And what else can I do when I look back
Except perceive the single path I carved
Through possibilities, and feel the lack
Of all that could have fed me when I starved?
But they're yesterday's hungers: met, or dead.
Look forward. Feed the ones that lie ahead.