Barnardo hath my place.

Little green lens through which I look at these things
Through the bottom of this green bottle
I see
The lines of choice and fate
Barnardo stands where I should have stood
The river of fate carried him to the shore
I should have stood on
And carried me here.
Barnardo receives what I could have had
He laps up my rewards
He basks in adulation that ought to have been mine
I cannot really blame him (though I’d like to)
He had no more control than I
He didn’t hold me back with his oar
Or even know my name
It was the water that carried him there
And me here
And no matter how hard I swim
I will never stand on Barnardo’s land.

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