Feeble

Don’t like being forced to choose
between things I have to do
and things I need to do — they seem
the same, but often are not —

as in I have to use my hand to stand up,
rising to my feet with it on a bed’s surface
holding me up, pushing me up; contrast that
with exerting a will to rise as I always have —

done almost without a thought; indeed
there was a time I can recall where I sprung
up, flung things aside, tossing back covers,
ready or not to meet that day but I met it

without a thought or a care for it; and now
I have to choose one way or another
and while it may seem simple to you
it does not to me. I have to think about it

for at least a few seconds before I choose
and then far longer after a choice is made.
It is no big deal to anyone else, I suspect;
it is feeble — one spark closer to death — for me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T