Choice

Sometimes all
the weight of all the world
surrounds me,
sometimes, yes,
even happy thoughts feel bleak.
then the weight
condenses as a cage
and freezes,
and I know I'm truly weak -

weak enough to hold a sickness in my core,
weak enough to let the cancer spread,
weak enough to go past caring any more,
weak enough to feel no dread.

Now it seems
the weight of all the world
is in me,
frozen hard,
covering my fire with ice.
I will try
vomiting it out
completely,
triggered by a touch of spice -

just a single spark form this eternal fire,
just a spear of light to cut the dark,
just a glint of hope exposing my desire,
just a single holy spark.

Then
the heavy weight of all the world,
the dust-cloud,
silently
covers with a stony skin
all that lives, so it never goes
completely,
but now it is very thin -

brittle to the touch of gentleminded sense,
scattering beside its voice,
cinder by the fires of friends and confidence,
strangled by a seedling's choice.