She calls to me from the streets,
begging me to turn away from
the simpleminded way of the world.
Her cries tug at my lonely life.
She is the wife of my youth, the
sweet lady of wisdom, and her
advice is what I don’t want to
listen to in this moment.
I’m faced with a decision, two paths
to choose from: one leading into
the growing of the light, the
other disappearing into the falling
darkness. She pulls at my arm,
whispering down the back of my
neck the words to convince me to
choose her way, the way of gleaming dawn.
But the immoral woman is smoother
than oil and it is she who
succeeds in pulling me to her
side; we stumble blindly along
the crooked trail, over
stones and bones, unaware
victims of the deadly decisions
we do not know we are making.
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