Everything just seems to go round and round in circles
no matter the choices I make. Because of the choices I make.
The only thing that changes with every turning of the wheel
is my growing awareness of how many mistakes repeat themselves
and how much less in control I feel with every turn.
Every time I see more of the careless destruction I have wrought
more of the chaos and fire that burns my wake through another life
I feel more and more the chafing of the chains in which I was caught
the heavy bindings with their magic that makes me loop through strife after strife.
Yet, the harder those bindings chafe, the more I am reminded
that I forged that metal, and bound my hands all by myself.
Sure, I had help along the way, unkind hands whose touch never mended
but while they forged links in my chain, I kept myself bound in hell.
Do I keep pretending I actually have the power of a different choice?
Or do I face the seemingly inevitable lack of agency with dignified poise?