Choices

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.