From The Bird's Nest

Supine sadness

Lying on your back is the strangest of things,
The world at an angle all wrong,
The cold of the floor caressed against ones back,
As you lie motionless, open to find
A purpose to life, none so nihilistic,
But real. Choose a path they say.
Choose a life and take it.
But what if I can't. Don't want to.
The path can choose me.
My minds too fickle to imagine a future.
Imagine a life compressed with routine
How mundane! How obsessive.
I fantasise true. And what?
Its not realistic child, I know!
But why should it be!
Why is now the reality,
Why not then or when or how?
Why the choice? Why right now!
I can't. I won't. I shan't I say.
Not good enough child. I pray
My fate is not at the hands of them,
They don't know me. The thoughts inside my head.
The things is so do desire,
The things I see and admire.
But I do not need to choose.
I won't be the one to do so.
Fate choose me and in that I will play my part,
But do not expect me to be so non spontaneous,
So blunt and dull and grey,
I not choose today.
I choose not tomorrow or any time I'm asked.
I will go with the water,
Float in the breeze,
Watch as the tale unfolds, two leaves,
Blown from a tree and towards each other.
An accident they fell in the same place.
But spontaneous none the less.
Let me be that leaf. No.
Then let me fall.
Why? Because if the day comes when I lose it all.
I might be happy seeing a fate disappear.