Poem by Sandra Osborne
Different dreary worlds,
That it’s hard to make a choice,
Hard to choose at all,
Hard to have to.
Ahh, that’s it isn’t it? Choice.
The great commanding curse
Of freedom. It’s very source.
No Freedom without it,
Only a painful apathy,
With no worry, and no hope.
For hope is always tight with worry,
Hope and dread, did I make the right choice?
Did I choose wrongly? The stress, anxiety
Over the future, over it’s hope.
Yet, and still, there are no wrong choices,
Just fleeting, frozen moments.
Forever, and without changes,
With no way to make them.
So don’t worry,
Just choose and go, follow
Freedom’s path to the next choice,
And don’t worry,
Enjoy the hope.
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