Who is the master in this house?
I said to the God gene inside me.
I find no trace of you in the world,
and yet you consume me.
Deciding how my life is played.
What shall we do with each other?
In the end,
which one of us will matter?
And hormones that push me
from sex to love.
What shall I do with you?
How much of you is me?
How much can I endure?
Love that is forever then fades.
Is shattered,
becomes cynical and dry.
What have we done with each other?
Is there a true love story?
And,
what can be determined
from being young and growing old?
Making choices of what will be
and what will not be,
as if in the end,
I am not passion,
but only a litany of life
going this way and that,
pretending it is destiny.
Could I do better?
How much freedom do I have?
Where can I leave my regrets?
What does the world expect of me?
What do I expect?
Perhaps kindness.
Only kindness,
and a voice that whispers
on my pillow,
understanding
is what we need
to forgive
and be forgiven for.