Chosen

Who is this man in front of me? For whom does he search —her or me? What does he want—an us or a we? what will he choose? Controlled or carefree This struggle for him, runs fast and deep he stood so long, I fell asleep with shoulders broad, his eyes are weak His choice is made and I can see his lips they part but do not speak He knocks a total time of three But with one more stride, he will always be—just the man at my doorstep a memory. I open the door, smile cordially feeling no spark as both our eyes meet He heads for the couch to take a seat but instead gets down on bended knee A small box and flowers at someone’s feet His choice is made—is it her or me?… He’s a memory now, I clearly see IT WAS NEVER MY CHOICE he chose for me.