The Chioce

by Renton de Alwis

 

I am my own enemy.

For no one else will ever bother,

to take me to a precipice to push me down.

An unbearable thought

in a world where they wait in line,

to push you down.

 

I want to be pushed down…

or else I will choose to jump myself,

for my  yearning to seek what’s there

in that bottomless pit,

overwhelms me.

 

Consuming all of me,

a fire of rage will otherwise

burn me to ashes.

Nothing… nothing will be left

for you or me,

only for the urn, will there be some.

For memories are cherished

more than the now.

 

The now of what goes

to make that memory

is what I seek.

 

The reality of pain, joy, love and whatever else,

I can not wait, but take the plunge.

I ask of you to push me down,

hard, hard … as if nothing else mattered.

 

Written in July 2009