WALKING DOWN THAT STREET

I walk down the street
Kicking stones and hurting myself
Ramming into visionary beings.
The pain stings
And makes me conscious of reality.
This walk was never meant to be
I tell myself.
Like some words were never meant
To be said.
That’s the brilliance of hindsight
You can tell yourself many things
You can scream till you’re hoarse.
But the past cannot be undone.
Then why should one walk
Down that street?
Maybe the street is a retributive mechanism,
Maybe its mere penitence.
Maybe its for blinding pain.
Maybe, just maybe, it’s a lesson.