Second Chances

Ploughing words onto a lit white screen
Hitting erase after every keystroke forward
Unmoving, the first line stares
Like a fort perched on a mountain top
And the moat of doubt twenty leagues wide
Do you turn around or keep standing?

Night becomes day and day turns to dusk,
The coffee on your table reheated thrice,
Soft boiled eggs turned into ivory cold rocks,
Buttered toast now staring at you soddenly
While the first line has become merely three
Do you persist or choose to roam free?

‘Boughs of life part old worlds for me’
Is this what we have come up with?
An image of opening new doors and windows
Amidst the dried teabags and packet of almonds
The bowl of cold milk in the refrigerator
And yet we only finished a rather dry quatrain.

What do you do to plot your way out of this fix?
Not a word more will make you mind tick
Do boughs of life really part old worlds apart?
If only verses were like a school of fish,
If not a silverback perch, perhaps a tuna will do
And so maybe we seize a second shot at this too.

I stared unto my lit computer screen
Wondering what a single click of a button would do
Perforate my moat of doubt and take me through
Or take me to a cottage on a secluded little hill,
For the wheels of life have a plan of their own
And second chances are only born out of choice.