All regrets are false, for they suppose
What’s called ‘free-will’ was at our beck and call.
Bad choices we may make, yet even those
Were non-existent doors we thought to close...
Or open; yet were doors we never chose.

‘Free will’ is an illusion, all in all,
A trick fate conjures up—that comes and goes
With changing circumstance, each maze, each wall
Each barricade, each sign on which we scrawl
‘This Way!’ a path to Pits of endless fall.