You are not rudderless
but your oars are too small.

(You will not make it across the lake.)


You trail gold stars like promise (potential)(unfilled)(they didn’t say it would be so hard)
a thin trail marks your passage
soon gone
floating (impotent) on the water.
It’s a bit like a funeral; those burning stars
were dead the moment you
stepped into the boat.

(You will not)
(I’m sorry)
(but you will not make it)

What Might Have Been is a salesman
that perches on your shoulders.
He is heavy; he weighs you down.
The boat sinks further into the surface.

You glance at him, he is only shadow;
but you are shadow too.

(No)
(The boat sinks deeper)
(You stopped rowing long ago)

Together you paddle across the lake.