Freedom Of Choice - Poem by Orlando Belo
Tonight the brightest of winter moons lights up the clear sky,
there's no escaping the wind that blows into my eyes.
I use my arm try to protect my face from the fierce biting cold,
but the chill is searching my body for my well protected soul.
It's my choice that I'm wrapped in newspapers lying here on the ground,
and I apologise if tomorrow, this is the way that I am found.
I'm just a stubborn old fool that let circumstances get the better of me,
and no one wants a cantankerous old dog that likes to be shackle free.
I don't want to end my life waiting to die in an old person's last resort home,
watching the hands of the clock every day, as the skin wrinkles on my bones.
Watching all the other unfortunates, lose their hearts before passing away.
I would rather the wind take my breath and soul when it is to be my day.
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