“You haven’t decided, you’re backtracking.”
Maybe, but perhaps I’m laying a trap, encouraging some fate that’s not my own into pursuing me.
Feigning retreat, that I might be assumed weaker than I am.
That by reckless pursuit (not mine, but the years bearing down,
The circumstances coming, armed as they are),
They ultimately find themselves overeager, on terrain that I know better.
At risk of being cut off, soon to be enveloped in a pincer move.
That is, if I’ve been a keen enough sentry of self, a heeder of Socrates,
Wielding sufficient self-awareness to eventually counter once compelling strength.
Despite what it looks like,
Maybe I’m not postponing, beset by chronic indecision.
Maybe I’m choosing the battlefield, its idiosyncrasies well-known only to me.
And that’s the one advantage we may have, when something unexpected
Crosses the borders into our lives,
Hostile and requiring a response of some kind.
We retain the upper hand that all defenders do, if we’re intuitively patient,
If we’ve been proper surveyors of our own lands.
And so the future,
One day with ominous outlook,
Might be lulled into reckless charge,
Then become vulnerable to entrapment and rout,
Possibly entirely in the battlefield of your mind.
Until somehow the future clears, with lands as if undefended,
Seemingly open to siege,
May you then have the courage to undertake an all-out counteroffensive!
Finally.
And often, the greatest victories only ever happen, finally.