The Bruising floods
Struck with an inimitable sadness,of what I cannot grasp,
to choose the sun or the moon,
and when I try and place a pin,
I'm too afraid to let the hand fall upon its page,
Oh, to postpone eventuality!
Am I reliving past lives, or just repeating mistakes,
Having thought they were right so long ago,
Am I wrong to hold unlikely wishes,
That so recently were unthinkable,
Who am I to what was once myself?
How can the heart change so swiftly,
like an apple in the sun,
one bite taken, and the bruising floods,
Now I'm left without a haven,
For now and eternity
What do I wish for?
Gratuity for opportunity, for both roads?
How can I know where each will lead?
My destruction manifests internally or externally,
depending on the choice, that much is clear
Lord help me judge the right path,
For both seem fraught with uncertainty,
Both tinged with iniquity,
To suppress myself for a previous promise,
Never knowing what may have been,
Or to destroy a union, made unreservedly,
For what may be a fickle thing, How can it ever be judged?
I decree then that it is a hairs breadth between fickleness and steadfast faith,
For who knows what I may wish to discard beyond tomorrow,
Such is my uncertainty,
Oh what a man am I,
That my selfishness be so consuming,
Have I failed by letting it infect me further?
Is there a medicine for this cancer on the cusp of my demise?
Are not others involved and what of them?
Are these escape routes, or symptoms of a more precise concern,
Misinterpreted so that I run riot,
Is honesty best, with all? That surely will harness destruction,
Am I to build from the soil of the burned city?
Or reinforce the walls before the siege?
And is it right to lose the people to the aggressors,
Or flee to live again?
Or hide, and hope things return to whatever they were,
I perhaps can curse time, for burdening me now,
Despite time's design enabling all.
Oh for a month aside from my past and present, to dance with what may have been,
For how will I ever know if the risk is outweighed by the reward
Will that be the thought that keeps me in hiding,
Or prepared to sacrifice all?
Is that how I will address this dilemma,
I long for the days when the moon appears dim and distant,
Or may even be a sun in another's sky,
But of course, I don't wish that,
Though it would spare cowardly me of this inevitable destiny.
Poetry by Silvekin
Read 508 times
Written on 2012-05-11 at 19:32
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