I haven’t always been who I am now—
Or is that only partly true, in that
I was the twig that’s grown to be a bough?
But still I hear a wary caveat
That urges I’ve been shaped by circumstance,
Compounded of what fate has chanced to throw
Into my path, the seeds that fortune plants—
No other destiny than that can grow.
Yet something in me argues otherwise
That senses an essential character
Inscribed within my soul that still implies
What’s destined to unfold as things occur.
Becoming who I am has been my goal,
The destiny implicit in my soul.