Ill Fated
So shall I choose to die as young men die -
inside the car when death meets dash and grins
his rictus grin - or crouched in sand too far
from home and suddenly aware that no one wins -
or on a street where bullets know my name and why
I'm there and for one brief and brilliant flash
I'll be the only star that lights the city sky?
Or shall I choose to live as old man live -
with palsied limbs and shuffling gait - with eyes
grown dim and ears grown deaf - my mind a sieve
that cannot hold unto the truths or lies
which I've held dear no matter how I try and try -
With skipping heart and stiffened lungs
that even drugs will not quite manage to disguise?
I fear free will is just the final ruse.
There is no choice nor shall I choose.
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