The Choice

Like the day and the night
Memoirs of one always follow the other.
She regards them both as equals in her eye
The day-bright, sunny, scorching at times
Tears produced, like sweat; they cleanse once again.
She basks in his warmth, a lone flowering bush
She owes him her happiness; he has been generous with it
He dotes on her, he hurts her yet he cares for her, she knows.
She needs him just as much as he, her
Yet the sun never can and never will
Claim such a flower his own.
As he fades, the dark night she awaits,
In his envelope, she finds comfort.
With every moment, new mysteries she uncovers
She learns the languages of the moon and the stars…
She is soothed by his touch
His murmurs make her smile
She raises no questions, she feels secure
She settles into his embrace; cherished, content
When time plays his rude game once more.
As dawn breaks, her world is sunny again
With the sun, raise questions on her gratitude and loyalties
And now she is asked to make her choice.

Therefore, she lives

With today, the genies and fairies have failed her.
As the clouds gather, she braces herself,
Revelling in the silence, before the storm.

Her sun, his warmth he has extinguished
But not before he has left her singed
Sliced her with his words, she bleeds.

For the sun chose her himself, not her; him
He willed her to be a lotus, his own,
To rise and fade with him; she was smothered.

Independent she is, the gay wild flower,
Her mistake she acknowledges; amateurish, hasty.
And she forgives herself, and she forgives him.

For the storm may come, but she will remain,
Rooted firmly, she knows, this too shall pass
She may wilt, but she will blossom again.