Decisions are made every day.
Stuff gets done just that way.
Leaving a home’s a difficult call.
Finding another is always a haul.
Choices are many but few fit the bill.
But we’ll find the one, I know we will.
Something that’s not too small or too big.
And a nice little place for kids to dig.
The woods will be great but at least a few trees,
with a spot for flowers for the birds and bees.
Neighbors OK but none is best.
I’m not anti-social but can be a pest.
Now thoughts to be thunk and options weighed,
calculations conjured forging a grade.
Results considered but one thing’s for sure.
In love we’ll venture, anywhere secure.
In this time of “writer’s block”,
I stare blankly at paper and clock.
With jumbled prose I try to think,
should life be guided by pen and ink?
Does a rhyme decide a story’s path?
Can a re-verse save us from the wrath?
The day is young; there are things to do,
but the sky’s gray with a snowy hue.
The air is cold, I’ll assume,
my spirit’s locked within a room.
Doors will open if I choose.
When all’s lost there’s none to lose.
Persistence colors the choices we make.
Is persistence for persistence sake?
Do we persist simply to win?
If direction’s unclear should we begin?
Like life, love, thought and art,
questions unanswered are the start.
Life ticks forward with us or without.
Thoughts will be shared without a doubt.
Art will be made with all the thoughts had.
And love makes life happy but also sad.
Dilemma’s obscure visions true.
A vision obscures my dilemma new.
I’m seeking an end to what’s now fraught.
The past’s the lesson of what’s been taught.
And like life, love, thought and art,
ends shade poetic an open heart.
I worry about writing, I worry when not.
I worry too much, I worry a lot.
The past I feel and the future I see.
Factor’s deduced and nothing’s free.
Can it be afforded, an unknowable time?
Can life be spent on rhythm and rhyme?
Can I feel without getting hurt?
Can I grow without eating dirt?
Chained to my pen, the outside looms.
In dusty volumes this life entombs.
Can pages torn be chapters shared?
If a binding’s broke should fate be dared?
Sheets to the wind, covers tossed.
My quill floats off, I am lost.
Paces excel and alter trips forgot.
Will the sunshine burn, I worry a lot.
Four weeks now to the day.
A text though shared, but little to say.
Is a window open, should I slip through?
I do still love her, what am I to do?
A second chance’s a second guess.
My head says no, my heart says yes.
I’ve now to decide if again to pursue.
Will I still love me if I do?
I’m still hurt and a little mad.
But I miss her so much it makes me sad.
She broke my heart, snapped it in two.
Did she ever love me, what would she do?
The pros and cons of death
are the ins and outs of breath.
The ups and downs of life
are the this and that’s of strife.
Forward or back, taut or slack,
fast or slow it’s the average we know
Top or bottom leaves in between.
Front and back the rest’s unseen.
Heads or tails the inner hides.
No coin has only just two sides.
Life is choices, more than two.
There’s more to it than me and you.
Books may contain all that’s known.
Everything else we’re on our own.
Soft or hard a landing’s assured.
Highs and lows are endured.
While ponderings spiral unabated,
decision’s made as we waited.
Time’s endless, though ours is not.
Hit or miss, it’s worth a shot.