Ambivalence, that overworked device

Springs and cogs, stressed and wrought, imprecise

Mounting pressure as grit clogs the gears

Choices grind against the thrall of massing fears.


Armies marching toward the eve of dread war,

Clashing on bloody field reap injuries sore.

Still specters rise among the dead, seek hallowed light:

A haunted mind, besieged, knowing not rest or flight.


Perhaps if this barren land were just a dream

I could rip out the thread that binds the seam,

Separate the scraps and find peace in between

A haven where none would dare to intervene.


Treaty implausible, so it seems, for contending ideals,

Fractured dreams.  Yet if to one I grant the prize, the other appeals,

Oh, with fervent cries!  Can I suppress this other wish, stand steadfast;

Please, might I deny, forget…accept that now the die is cast?


2 thoughts on “Choice

    • Thank you. I think the little old-school poem snippets in Ivanhoe inspired me (I kept waking up in the middle of the night to run to my notebook). I used to write a lot of free verse, but then the dread started to build that it wasn’t “good enough”. At least if the syllables (which I counted for once) and rhymes match, it can’t be too terrible, right? My new internet love is b-rhymes. Sometimes I have the right word to rhyme, but it never hurts to look at what else I could use (sometimes I stumble across a lot of new words that way).

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