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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