Alternatives
I can choose to kill this pain; let it lie
until all sense decays from off the bones
and upon their bleaching starkness hang
the chaff of life:
the unsympathetic hello,
the broken vows,
the endless sham of endless tramping
to and fro.
I can choose to till this pain; let it live
and learn to love the aching limbs I prune
with sorry Memory’s bitter knife;
hold within my breast this burning seed
till nourished on my blood,
watered with my tears,
new life springs forth from barren years.
© 1987, Faye Lanham Gibson
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