Here I sit... Stuck in self Life presents roads and thought follows Yet no choice is made. Inanimate until that day... When waiting reveals to be a choice That day control seems frail.
A choice is a cycle of endless dispute Like a wound left to fester, Time adds difficulty of treatment And the body suffers.
Like pitting scales balanced By the weights of desires and information. Days add to the weight of the hanging poles.
A choices is made By asurity in momentary self, But as motions shift The wound is reopened, The scale is rebalanced, Under new desires. Here I sit...