Threads of Choice

Looking back from the breach, perhaps a bit dramatic

Threads of Choice

 

Dark lake flows, wind at its back,

running for it’s natural life

like a man caught up in the currents

moving forward cause he can’t look back.

 

Wind blows us places

we don’t imagine in our dreams:

our imaginations never fixed

on the mundane and profane

 

moments of lassitude and surrender,

the times when mental muscles

ache with tender wounds of pride,

drop the oars that let us steer aside.

 

We gaze bewildered at fearful shores

we’re bound to beach ourselves

or worse smash rapids’ sharpest rocks

and crush our molten core.

 

We’d cry no mas! if we had words

but terror snatches speech

as we careen from death’s near breach

to stare a vortex in it’s face

 

as if life’s answer’s lying there,

inside the swirling water of our rot.

Yet we find no the answer to our dreams,

no faint echo of our plea.

 

But from paralysis of sound

croaks our long dead inner voice

reminding us with one last gasp

that dreams hang on threads of choice.

 

© 2009 David P. Eckert

Reviews

[Gandré]

what a wonderful mind!