He waits at dawn with coffee in hand,
She calls at midnight with a reckless plan.
One offers roots, the other wings,
Both pull at the heart with different strings.
Do I choose the fire or the steady flame?
The whispered secret or the one who knows my name?
Love’s not a path, it’s a quiet war,
Between what I want and what I’m fighting for.
I stand between them, heart split in two,
Wishing the answer would just walk up and choose.
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Author:
ROSHI (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 14th, 2026 06:48
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 17
Offline)
Comments2
You’ve caught that quiet, aching standoff—stability versus spark, neither one wrong, both asking something different of you.
What lingers is the helplessness in that last line: sometimes the hardest part isn’t choosing—it’s knowing no one else can do it for you.
Very nice thought. Thank you
I have said it before this is a marvelous poem that in one way or another many are familiar with. In metaphor it occurs frequently
Thank you again, my friend. I always appreciate your thought.
Most welcome William
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