which kills itself in coming true.
Our choice is free, determinate
and new.
Our choice will make us what we are,
and what we are will make that choice.
Rhetorical, vernacular,
our voice
echos from was to will become,
but only Christ is first and last.
Future is the pseudonym
of Past.
And yet in chance we may not hide—
our free will shoots up soon or late
to bud. There is no suicide
like Fate.
No comments:
Post a Comment