Can we stop the onslaught of History,
Or even slow it?
Can we be what we want to be,
Or even know it?
Can we see that the path of life,
As it winds before us,
Is filled with strife?
Do we meander aimlessly?
Is there a script that points our way.
A pattern in DNA?
Are we formed by our time,
Or is ours but the curse to be free?
Is there a play in which we have a line?
Is there an exit, stage left or stage right?
Not on this stage.
Not in this life.
Not in this time.
We but turn the page.
© 2009 Roger W. Bodo
