the broken glass is littered with the scores of thoughts on the floor
piecing them together would be a chore
leaving them to fade away would cause me distress
I resume my indecisive thinking and remain motionless
careful as to not awaken the sleeping giant that lies at the core of my heart
still as if one false movement could end in the rapid disappearance of what fleeting control I still had
YOU ARE READING
Crossing the dark moon
PoetryIt is up to every man to choose what path they follow. Whether it be in fairness or out of spite, the choice is up to the individual at the end of the road
