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Decision
by Michael Graves

The dream does not exist, which
has not in its conception come
coupled with challenge
as its birth-twin.

Alike, no wish exists
that in its forming thought is void
of gauntlet thrown,
to make it so.

Life concatenates,
challenge to challenge.
That's what makes it
Life.

To wake and dress, or drink
hot coffee,
without spilling.

To ascend
the vertical rock face,
ice-covered,
in a live, raging
gale. Or to fall

into hopeless,
riotous love, never
to be the same. Ever.

Life concatenates,
that is

what makes it
Life.

The path was void before you came,
win or lose,
you decide which fork to walk.
And you
alone.

Who refuses this, is soaked too deep
in need to blame, his head
too thickly bound in batting
to hear the holy
songs.

You
and you alone decide:
poison or
life.

The dream does not exist, which
has not in its conception come
coupled with challenge as its birth-twin.

Delight or
poison.
you decide.

 


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