Put Your Feet Up

You kick and kick and kick.
Yourself, of course.
How could you make
such a decision?
Why didn't you choose
to go back and give it another shot,
to carry your riding-on-fumes existence
back into the danger zone?
Why couldn't you have played it safe?
Or maybe just safer.
But give yourself some credit.
You did as you were told.
You didn't hang around
to tempt the beast.
That should count for something
a lot, actually...
You are alive.

But now you are living in a far away land
in the neighborhood of self-kicking,
waiting for some kind of word.
Any kind of word.
For that would be far better
than the darkness of the unknown.
All the while, the surge of regret pounds away
at your worn out heart.

Take your boots off and rest.
You can only make choices
with the information you have at the time.
Do you think you can predict
which way the wind will blow?
Can you forecast the path of a storm?

Come on over.
Put your feet up on the coffee table
(where they really belong)
and hear these words:

It is not your fault.
It is not your fault.
It is not your fault.