A Root Of An Unfocus

Not a night goes by that I,
Don’t stop and ponder on my life strange.
I wonder with heart a-flutter,
Where would I be if there wasn’t that stutter,
Had I waxed a-different on that page.

Corpses of possible presents
Strew the street of shattered dreams.
Bitter, bitter is the regret that I brew,
When through the tortuous nights I do rue,
My bright visions of the could-have-beens.

Had I, had I been otherwise,
Had I done otherwise,
Whither would the road have led?
Perhaps I’d stood the engulfing tide,
With grit and with honor, did abide,
And found myself at home instead.