There is no future — not for you — for me.
Am I the child that stared into an eye
Of glass sewn on my teddy bear? Whose cry
Would bring my mother running anxiously?
Am I the boy who hurtled, wild and free,
Down hills upon a bike — who scored a try
To win my house the cup we held so high?
Could such an athlete birth an amputee?
No, no and no — we shift beyond recall
From what we were to what we think we are,
And in our gross imaginings grow strange —
So Lucifer, awakening from his Fall,
Stared out, a prisoner Prince of this dull star.
There is no future — not for those who change.