Enough Poem by James Atkins

Surge through the black,
like a ragged flood of wind
The past is at your back,
You don't notice it begin.

Morning stretches forwards,
promised, pale and grey.
Chances aren't quite choices,
yet still lead you astray.

Looking back with fondness,
tracing back the tears.
Where you fell off the rails,
and wasted all your years.

One thought brings a weary smile,
walking home through rain.
You always were your own man...

...and you'd do it all again.