CHOICES

CHOICES

The paths are not so finely worn,
I am not fixed and static.

I am no musty relic,
In some forgotten attic.

I awake unto a brand new day,
Not a slave to the same old tapes.

I am not a soul embroidered,
Across unchanging landscapes.

Wonder of wonders I can fly,
And my wings are young and strong,

Flying into the morning sun as graceful as a lark,
For who could know the choices that breathe my name in the dark?

Standing in front of a cold closed door,
But I am not in a hurry.
Time to wait out the waves on the shore,
Not to lay low or to scurry.

But to dial the number to a new future,
Not necessarily better,
Not just to follow the spirit of the law,
But to follow it to the letter.

Never knowing what's on the other side,
A ghost or an embrace.
The future comes and strikes me dumb,
Without a hint or a touch of grace.

I could have sworn that I heard voices,
Ringing in my despot ears,
Turned out it was only choices,
Echoing from far to near.
Beckoning me, beckoning,
To a day of final reckoning.
Choose or have it chosen for you,
Choose or lose it, choose or die,
You are lost without a compass,
Free falling in the windy sky.
Tumbling into the terrible,
Diving into the divine,
I have seen the future
And all its fruits and foibles are mine.

These decisions are a grim and a stark affair,
Who knows what lurks in the future,
Dangling on a tightrope in pale and nauseous air.
Afterwards the joy of resolution,
As you take your fate in hand.
Following your sun even if it leads
To a slow and ghastly quicksand.

Wonder of wonders I can fly,
And my wings are young and strong,

Flying into the morning sun as graceful as a lark,
For who could know the choices that breathe my name in the dark?

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED