Imprisonment or Freedom? Coming across the split path, he feels nervous, beginning to scratch the messy brown hair that always seemed to itch. Looking over his shoulder, the teen ponders the thought of going back. Shaking the jitters off, he finally decides to give up on the idea of returning to that hell hole of a home town. 'Why go back to a place where the people would rather you dead than stay in town?' he thought to himself. Looking back at the diverged paths, a signpost on the connection point between the two paths is noticed: on the arrow pointing down the right path, the sign said "Imprisonment" and on the left was printed "Freedom." Annoyed with such an important decision, the teen sat down in front of the sign and closed his emerald green eyes. Hearing the leaves rustle in the wind, hearing the flow of grass, smelling the scent of the flowers, and feeling the cool autumn breeze, for once, he enjoyed complete peace. The thought of home rushed back to him, the missing hole in the senses, the void unbearable since the mother had passed away. Remembering his mother made him refocus on the two paths in front of him. This was not just a decision of simply leaving home; this was the choice to move on from his mother's unfortunate passing all those years ago or keep living under the same burden of her loss. Standing up, he looked towards the sky: a deep orange was soon dissolving to a pink/purple shade, and the setting sun rested behind the leaves of the path titled "Freedom." Knowing what he had to do, he began to walk down the path of freedom, teardrops trailing in the dirt beneath his feet as they walked. Coming around the bend he saw a sign that read "DO NOT ENTER" hammered loosely across a tattered gate; he continued to walk towards it. A small laugh emerged from the tears as the teen tore the sign down, removing the fence completely and opening up the path to a hill overlooking the ocean on the other side. Walking towards the lone tree on the hill, he looked around the base of the trunk until he found the marking "R.I.P. Mother" carved into the tree. Pulling a knife from his pocket, a painful cry escaped his lips as all of the letters and words that were put into the tree so many years ago were scratched away. Gasping for air, he pulled a match from the same pocket, lit it, and began to set the whole tree on fire. Freedom burned, and he wasn't about to let her death smother him again.
Manhood's ChoicesHe's a playful sort, but I expect more of him. I can only hope for the best of this child, for I may not interfere until The Time when he decides to live has come.My world seeks help day by day, and each day I reject their pleas for assistance. My people do not hear me,
for they are convinced, butTHIS. IS. A. LIE! For only one can hear me, and it is not that man. The one who hears me, is only still a boywho choosesThis Life. (After reading the poem a few times, I got to like it. I like the choice of title compared to the meaning you portrayed in the poem.)
Coming across the split path, he feels nervous, beginning to scratch the messy brown hair that always seemed to itch. Looking over his shoulder, the teen ponders the thought of going back. Shaking the jitters off, he finally decides to give up on the idea of returning to that hell hole of a home town. 'Why go back to a place where the people would rather you dead than stay in town?' he thought to himself. Looking back at the diverged paths, a signpost on the connection point between the two paths is noticed: on the arrow pointing down the right path, the sign said "Imprisonment" and on the left was printed "Freedom."
Annoyed with such an important decision, the teen sat down in front of the sign and closed his emerald green eyes. Hearing the leaves rustle in the wind, hearing the flow of grass, smelling the scent of the flowers, and feeling the cool autumn breeze, for once, he enjoyed complete peace. The thought of home rushed back to him, the missing hole in the senses, the void unbearable since the mother had passed away. Remembering his mother made him refocus on the two paths in front of him. This was not just a decision of simply leaving home; this was the choice to move on from his mother's unfortunate passing all those years ago or keep living under the same burden of her loss.
Standing up, he looked towards the sky: a deep orange was soon dissolving to a pink/purple shade, and the setting sun rested behind the leaves of the path titled "Freedom." Knowing what he had to do, he began to walk down the path of freedom, teardrops trailing in the dirt beneath his feet as they walked. Coming around the bend he saw a sign that read "DO NOT ENTER" hammered loosely across a tattered gate; he continued to walk towards it. A small laugh emerged from the tears as the teen tore the sign down, removing the fence completely and opening up the path to a hill overlooking the ocean on the other side. Walking towards the lone tree on the hill, he looked around the base of the trunk until he found the marking "R.I.P. Mother" carved into the tree. Pulling a knife from his pocket, a painful cry escaped his lips as all of the letters and words that were put into the tree so many years ago were scratched away. Gasping for air, he pulled a match from the same pocket, lit it, and began to set the whole tree on fire. Freedom burned, and he wasn't about to let her death smother him again.
Manhood's Choices He's a playful sort, but I expect more of him. I can only hope for the best of this child, for I may not interfere until The Time when he decides to live has come.My world seeks help day by day, and each day I reject their pleas for assistance. My people do not hear me,
for they are
convinced, butTHIS. IS. A. LIE! For only one can hear me, and it is not that man. The one who hears me, is only still a boywho choosesThis Life.
(After reading the poem a few times, I got to like it. I like the choice of title compared to the meaning you portrayed in the poem.)