A simple smile to yourself
A love that never moves

Two withered paths, a corded brow, a face rigged in string.
Each subsequent step away from the decision –
Just met –
Draws this string ever tighter
Its tension rigging the two paths;
Options that will last,
Into this sort of equilibrium.

For the crossroads –
Just left –
To peter down the path
Of which he is unsure if his decision was one
That could be respected,

A sort of pride remained behind
Dragging him back, down the path
Which he just passed
A decision regretted
To bring him to the start which he, oh so hated

Why did he repeat these wonderings
With no meanings?
What brung him back –
time and time again –
To that same track?

He teeters on the edge of one path,
Then falls into the other
Only, to his dismay,
To be pulled back on strings – traps –
That rip him back to those same crossroads
Will he ever learn his lesson?
Or is his lesson learnt?
The man who swings on ropes of fate
between one decision
and another.

Thinking is a difficult thing.
Thinking is a difficult thing.
You think that thinking may be too much thinking for you,
Your mind flowing like the wind, in the wind, on the wind,
Stepping through the passage of the wind, unknown to you.
Highlight cities in grass so green
That thinking seems a silly thing
Thinking is a difficult thing.

my soul is a mirror
not of nature, but what is
around

void of poetic
interpretation

narrowed
by
reflected
inky
outlines

of

     me

                and

                             my