at fifty I approach myself, <br />eighteen years of age, <br />seated despondently on the concrete steps <br />of my father's house, <br />wishing to be gone from there <br />into my own life, <br />and I tell my young self, <br />Nothing will turn out right, <br />you'll want to avenge yourself, <br />on those close to you especially, <br />and they will want to die <br />of shock and grief. You will fall <br />to pleading and tears of self-pity, <br />filled with yourself, a passionate stranger. <br />My eighteen-year-old self stands up <br />from the concrete steps and says, <br />Go to hell, <br />and I walk off.<br /><br />David Ignatow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-a-dream-18/
