I stand unmoving at the doors
that bar the way until choice is made.
But which is it? Do I enter the world beyond?
Or exit this one? Does soon to be take
Precedence over the now? The handles
hang still, cold, indifferent.
You can find me there, camped out
with lean-to shelter, undecided.
I do not reach the conclusion others have
made, so unthinking quickly.
I could break the rules, push through
uncaring, pick blindly, tempting
the stoic doors
into action that would end
The choice lingers;
as do I.