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.
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