Poetry Is A Choice

A choice made for us
An inevitability laid down by fate
Compelled by destiny
Drawn by that rotting
Decaying
Burning sword of verse
Held in inhuman hands
High above the garden
That narrow passage
Which separates here
From that eternal there
That held all innocence
And hope
And laughter
The joy of that first
Light of creation
Ever shining through
The angel-guarded gate.