They murmur of triumph,
then sang its songs
out and loud,
and I could hear
all that banter
that promised a choice
one they took
like the glint of a star
long dead in space.

How could I feel restrained,
more chained, more contained
like the underage child
lost in the tantrum of laws
over a choice,
where it becomes a curse
that brings only pain and nothing more
just so as it stings
that all I do is take a tumble?

I am now tired,
of letting time having the call
on our fates.
So even if they don’t realise this, I do
that time is but an excuse
to whisper of choices and to sing the songs along.
No more shall I fabricate boundaries
to tell myself
that I cannot sing my own song.