I hate to have to choose, and yet,
I have to make a choice.
I think of what I’ll lose
Amidst the clutter and the noise.
I fear I’m passing up my fate,
My fortune now seems lost.
I fear I’m veering from the straight,
At what horrific cost?
My mind seems poised to seal the deal,
And then, my heart will waiver.
Mere logic feels as cold as steel.
Persuasion’s what I favor,
With its thin veil of substance,
So inviting, so demure:
How could I hope to argue back,
Or, love-sick, find a cure?
Perhaps you’ll reckon for my mind,
Seduce that fretting mourner,
And make it up, just like a bed,
With hospital-like corners.
Copyright 2018 Andrea LeDew