Choice

"Choice"

staring out the window
at people passing by,
wondering why the devil
is in my heart and eye,

wondering why i sit, with thoughts that start and flit,
and make me ask such questions without reason,
is it true that we cannot be more than me and you,
or is there such a thing as healing season?

i won't give in to that evil touch
of paranoid and twisted inky thread
the thoughts that leave me shattered
and fill my spirit with unintentioned dread
if such a thing as truth exists,
it cannot be so far,
that we are yet unable to find this,
no matter where we are

so here i sit, staring and sigh,
working myself out of a high
that was brought by my own hand,
and gave me to that promised land,
invented by my own and yours,
the window too small,
the room with no doors

on nights like this
i truly wish
that You could hold me near
but so far apart are we,
separated by land and sea
and air that can't be borne or breathed

beyond the sinful sights
of wearied, weathered nights,
of winter's bones and chill,
of harvest's starving rumble,

i try and make the future bright,
to seek the dark and shun the light,
to find that surcease of will,
and submit to a last tumble,

for in the hands of fate,
i've placed my final call,
this pain will not abate,
as through the glass i fall

beyond the plaintive cries,
of hidden, seething lies,
of fear that petrifies,
there is one simple voice,

it mourns aloud, and scares the flock,
and sends the dreams that burn and shock,
and makes the last and final

choice