#911 On What Went Wrong

I watched another take a seat I craved,
And asked what flaw had dimmed my early light —
What forfeit left my gold so long engraved
With someone else’s name, some other’s right.
Was merit not enough, or did I stray
At some unmarked and unreturning turn?
The years grow short; what youth had meant to say
Now smoulders where ambition used to burn.
And yet to rage against the shape of things
Is but to break oneself upon the wheel —
Perhaps each life is measured not by rings
Of office, but by what the quiet feel.
What went wrong? Perhaps nothing. Perhaps all
Was always tending toward a different call.