“A poem is the very image of life expressed in its eternal truth.”
Percy Bysshe Shelley

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Coming to Terms

I struggle daily,
aware my decline awaits,
unbidden and sure.

Forced into being
a reluctant bystander,
I grasp at control.

Not coming to terms,
my losses not accepted,
I hold on to hope.

The alternative,
dismissing hope completely,
strikes me as too stark.

Hope ever lingers,
detecting new crevices
in which to survive.

Ultimate freedom
lies in choosing what to think.
I will opt for hope.