Free To Choose

He wandered around,

unsure where to land.

He wanted to smell roses

and sage,

and followed his nose

to her.

He had been in the fire before,

and, while burned,

he kept moving

and breathing

and wanting

and waiting,

until she came to him

with the same desire.

He had learned to ignore the memories,

and met each new day

as innocent as a baby

mewling and howling

and impatient

and demanding

and eating life

like a plump fruit

there for the taking.

The poet called the past

a prologue.

He had learned to treat it

like an ending.

New love has an end.

But, when it ends,

until the end,

there is always a new beginning.

He loved the way

his new love

freed his mind

and helped him to forget the past.

She was a new beginning

and would be the end

of his days. Rickthinking