Halcyon

seed still waiting

I stand at a crossroads of wrong turns,
holding the currency of could-have-been
as meteors of sudden luck streak past my window.

Their ladders never miss a rung,
Doors open like applause,
but my frozen compass spins in silence—
a keyless cage humming with
the gravity of my own foolish choice.

Here, I am, with rusted ambition,
staring at a dead-end sunrise,
hearing the echoes of almost,
and stabbed by jealousy's quiet bruise
pages of life seem to be stuck together,
with a clock that only ticks in circles.

Their sparkling timelines, golden escalators,
luckily widened skies, and promotion parades.

I've seen it all.

Yet, I remain a shadow of my own regret,
like a seed, still waiting for rain. 

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