Notes About The Poem
The question to resolve is - Are we born bound to a fixed destiny, or do we possess the power to change?
Fixed and Frayed
She stands unregenerate, fiercely proud,
An obdurate shadow against the crowd.
An inveterate liar, a reprobate queen,
With the most intractable malice ever seen.
Her recalcitrant spirit refuses to bend,
An incurable trait that no one can mend.
With dyed-in-the-wool malice inside,
Her hardened indifference is impossible to hide.
Her path leaves a wake of irreparable toll,
Leaving raw pieces of a shattered soul.
An irremediable villain, a terror from birth,
Her ineradicable cruelty poisons the earth.
He stands malleable under the sun,
A salvageable soul, his change begun.
With a tractable heart and a flexible mind,
He leaves his brief errors and shadows behind.
His mistakes are amendable, easily cured,
By the gentle corrections he gladly endured.
A reformable spirit, both open and soft,
Lifting his hope and his character aloft.
Now look at them both, the fixed and the frayed,
The unbending iron, the clay newly made.
Are we locked in our paths till our history dies,
Or reborn in the light when we open our eyes?
Are we cast hard in stone from the day of our birth,
Locked in habits as deep as the roots of the earth?
Or does reason allow us to shatter the mold,
Leaving stories of change yet to be told?
The determinist claims that the die has been cast,
That the future is chained to the ghost of the past;
Like a river that carves through the canyon alone,
Our behaviors are traced in the marrow of bone.
Yet the existentialist shouts to the night
That the will of a mortal can kindle the light;
With the freedom to choose comes the power to break
From the cages of habit and errors we make.
Is the mind just a slate that the cosmos will write,
Or an engine of purpose, a beacon of might?
We are shaped by the storm, yet we steer through the sea,
Stuck between what we are and what we could be.
Our genes write a script filled with sorrow and fear,
A heavy inheritance we must carry each year;
We weep for the flaws that we cannot undo,
Feeling trapped in a mold that we didn't pursue.
Yet hope heals the scars where the old synapses bled,
Rewriting the stories inside of our head;
With every brave choice, a new pathway reveals,
Mending the heartbeat and the pain that it feels.
For love is the fire that melts down the stone,
Reminding the broken they are not alone;
In the warmth of a hand, the old wiring gives way,
And a heart once unyielding is remade today.
So, the cold iron bars of our birthright must yield
To the soft, healing grace of a love now revealed;
No longer a prisoner to what used to be,
The soul breaks its chains and chooses to be free.
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