The Rub


Her callous dispatch dictates his mind call the question.

Should he call the upon the dark or consent to the dimly lit?

One a conversant but slow demise, the other a precarious proposition;

His ache pleads for merciful end, equivocal fate dictates pause.

Choice certain of consequence, uncertain of responsibility;

Relief and obligation vie for mind’s position; solace and legacy compete for place;

Leave them with burdensome inheritance or encumber them by continued presence?

 Choice may be an illusion devoid of responsibility; thus, acquitting him of guilt;

Consider fate not being a matter of choice, occurring instead from being viewed;

Superposed fates, equally probable and simultaneous disconnected from prior choice.

Those who have called upon the dark speak not, their silence unrevealing;

The indoctrinated claim knowledge of their fate while the faithless concedes ignorance;

Timeless rub once again obscures, denying exit if only for minute;

He reluctantly embraces old demons rather than tempt the new.


 

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