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My choice; Both Exist
Our job, to choose
To sift and to sort
Which thoughts bring us down......
(.....Abandoned, bereft......)
Identify, recognize.
When we are young, we put out feelers
What is life? How must I act?
Coney Island; my kind of place?
Are outlaws my people?
Peeling paint my freedom?
Buttercups covered the hillside
Looking like Heaven to me
Golden hill in my mind's eye.....
Peeling paint and rough people.....
My choice; both exist.
Data collecting, reality tasting
All part of youth's task
Collected, tasted, and now
I'm ready to choose.
