Wrong to think of a time, where,
When different paths unfolded
In a zone of calculated steps
Leading not to here but there?
Better than the alternative.
Comparative parallels creating
Paradoxes of Goldilocks’ choices,
Because this one is just wrong.
This one. Not that one. Not THE one.
Never imagined in slumbering years
That it would or could be made real
To feel freedom from the fated hand.
Damnable thoughts scrape and break through
From hidden places to smile and wave,
Reaching for the reins trailing behind
This forbidden Victorian carriage.
© Brandewulf 2018