The Choice
She was once a tightly bound package,
Now ripped, tattered, and torn.
Then laced up right and tied with a bow,
Now her paper’s wrinkled and torn.
She’s a fine, dark secret now, or two,
In her pocket she carries around,
She keeps them close for looking and keeping,
Wonders if they’ll ever be found.
She holds a buffer ‘tween her heart and her head,
For if ever the two could meet,
Her head would sever her heart’s last thread
Of her precious, traveled, hidden sweet.
A bold secret is at once her pride,
The same would be her weighty shame,
Like knowing the place of a lost gold mine,
Never able to stake her claim.
She regrets and wishes, remembers and cries,
She shouts out the truths and whispers the lies.
No matter how firmly her soul ever tries,
She’ll grip this need ‘til the day she dies.
As the shadow of a cloud runs over the field,
And the rain blows over the way,
The wind in the trees and boughs never yield,
The past sun never lights on today.
Today is in the shade, deliberate and wrong,
She knows full well, she decides.
She wants to keep this secret song,
And remembers the path she hides.
A trace she’s never again to trod,
Her feet never more to walk,
The cool, soft moss on her young, naked toes,
And the pure, ruined way he could talk.
He’s the storm she wants for now and seeks,
Excited at the hint of a breeze,
Wanting, praying he’ll soon blow back in,
The wind an inspiring tease.
And since he’s a storm, dark and mistaken,
She keeps herself in the shade.
Her once often held hand, now not taken,
Her choice has already been made.
She prefers the slip, the error, the blunder,
She needs the thing she knew.
She longs for the one who showed her the wonder,
The lie she wants to be true.
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Topic: The Choice (Read 285 times)