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The Best Intentions

Holding on to either side of me
I feel a hand.
Each pulls in its own direction
not to be cruel
but to try and lead me
down the best path.

On my right
I see a forest
and a dirt trail.
The familiar sun
casts its rays on the bare ground.
The trees whisper safety.
The breeze is calm and reassuring.

On my left
I see a city
and a one way street.
The neon lights
are so bright they hide the stars
but voices call out hope.
The noise is music, excitement, and change.

I cannot fight off both hands;
behind my back my own are tied.
Neither can I choose
one hand to win
and one to loose.
I do not know which road
I should follow.
I cannot take just one
without wishing I'd taken the other.

So, as I sit in indecision
the hands slowly tear me in half.
I begin to rip down the middle.

The hand on the right tries
to shield me from evil
by covering my eyes.
The hand on the left
tries to teach me
to spoonfeed knowledge to my mind.

But because of this
I am blinded.

The spoon lodges in my throat.

One hand chokes me with ideas
while the other
smothers.
My brain is suffocating now.
Dying.
Losing
the ability to think
for itself.




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