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.