If I had only forgotten future greatness
and looked at the green things and the buildings
and reached out to those around me
and smelled the air
and ignored the forms and the self-styled obligations
and heard the rain on the roof
and put my arms around my wife
and it’s not too late.
It’s not too late to be what you might have been.
I saw myself a prisoner to all the things I’ve been.
I saw the play repeat itself reliving every scene.
But then I heard a voice that said step out and choose again,
step out and live, step out and love,
be what you might have been.