The Choice (Sonnet 11)

A poem about making choices after having been wounded in love.

I stand alone upon a weary ledge,
a choice before me lies: to love or hate,
the setting sun now draws the hour late;
my lover chooses hate, drives home the wedge.
My heart is full and can no longer pledge
itself to life or love at any rate,
for now it’s been too long, the hurt too great
and now to save itself my soul will hedge.
Perhaps, though, in due time my heart will bloom
and let another lover in that space
and he’ll show me love’s not the bitter pill
that stings the heart, and then shall make the room.
But as for now, I’m standing in this place,
upon a ledge, with no more time to kill.