Everything has limits; so do I,
But I hate to acknowledge where they are.
I look askance at them and vaguely sigh
Wishing them away, wanting no bar
Between me and my hopes. I must admit
Their presence, for their violation brings
A host of problems trooping after it,
But every fiber of my being sings
To push them all aside. I wish I could.
But in constraint there is a pleasure, too,
For choice is meaningful when what I should
Can be determined from what I could do:
Infinitude of possibility
Causes indecision constantly.
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