Who exactly makes the choice?
Is it me, a spirit free?
Or perhaps the choice is made for me.
It is all such a swirl yes?
These bombarding feelings
Bubbling up dread then relief
And finally interconnected joy
Provided things go our way
Is it a reaction to my decisions?
Or are we part of a wider play
A stage not of our choosing
Destined for negative when we forget our
role
Or god forbid, choose an unpopular way
And then ovation when we deliver
The critics heaping praise upon conforming
Not so different, my creativity might be
stifled
And that fear is mostly up here though manifest
there.
Mind the gap.
What does that mean?
Does my mind have a gap that place where
choice is made?
Or made for me?
I can leap to safety
Or step into that unknown
See how I land.
