I am free to choose where I plant my feet,
to ramble down the path and into the sun
In the orange columns cast by lamps on the street
crouch saddened people who have received none.
I am free to choose the order of the words,
whether they roll off my tongue or into my ears
From outside come spilling the songs of birds
They know nothing of chains; they have no fears.
I am free to choose the title of my poem
and embroider each letter with colors my own
Each man’s tale is not for men to condemn
Only One can reveal seeds the Devil has sown.
So I refuse to choose between silver and gold
I shun all the idols flesh and blood have made
The world passes, time paints masks of old
Slowly, slowly, the mist is beginning to fade.
I refuse to choose the gaping wide river
that asks for an ink heart, rebukes true faiths
The current is noisy, with a cold, secret shiver –
its lukewarm waters swarming with wraiths.
I refuse to choose between Father and Son
for one is the radiance of the other’s glory
There is only one path I am entitled to run
with joy, for I trust He who is writing my story.