Our ambivalence tortures us within

Do we choose what we perceive each hour?
Or are we automata clothed in skin
Which see the thorns and then ignore the flower?

Can we, like grass, be grateful for a shower.
Or is our store of gratitude too thin?
Can we choose what we perceive each hour?

Can we choose to smile instead of cower?
Can we  love the game  played not to win?
Who  sees  sharp thorns and then ignores the flower?

Do we   choose  to love or to play power;
Can we  choose   the virtue ,not  the sin?
Do we choose what we perceive each hour?

As we struggle inside Babel’s tower
Our ambivalence  tortures us within
Most see the thorns and then ignore the flowers

With   softened eyes, we see the entire bower
If we move ,  we see what is now dim
Do we choose what we perceive each hour?
Some  see the thorns and then ignore the flower