Game of Choices – a poem

Yesterday I wrote about colours

Which might the soul represent

Then stopped it flowering

So that I might my mood relent.

*

Relaxation bidden is no rest

At all, and an oxymoron too,

Mother of all catches tested

In this time of equivocal boons.

*

Times and seasons flow, curve,

The winding desert of before

Arid, seeing me tired and wired

And ready for a change, to swerve.

*

What mean the sudden choices

Now available to me? Luscious

Growth of the soul, of emotion

On offer, if only…I could choose.

*

Chaotic colours I wrote of before seen

In a strange order, struggles alight

And lancing sharp, that too strong beam

Striding in memory, soulful sights.

*

Transient surcease in bitter anodynes

Bring little relief in the pressurised mix

When steam rises from broken cups

To mingle with thoughts yet unsaid.

*

My life marches onward, inch by inch,

A necessity of slow development

Exaggerated by meaningful twitches

That threaten to dilate time down sent.

*

Choices are a dangerous game

That we all must play, bidden

By the state of the world, of us

And how we want wants hidden…

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