Dear Power:
If all the things I hear are true,
And your wayward thoughts are often cruel,
Heartless, selfish, and many times crude,
Then why do often adopt the guise
Of one who is sweet, noble, and kind?
Dear Control:
I wrote your brother, Power, yesterday
And asked him things he couldn’t explain.
But you, of course, have an iron fist–
Crushing things that are no longer missed.
Is it possible you could answer this?
Dear Death:
I’ve been in touch with all your cousins,
But they only feigned foolish ignorance
So I’m writing to you with this simple plea:
Is it possible that you could agree
To tell secrets being kept from me?
Dear Choice:
You are my last and final hope.
I’m out of options and ways to cope!
Do you have an answer that will please
My futile hopes and useless dreams
To see the world’s most desolate themes?
To whom it may concern:
If you want to see only darkness
That’s your decision alone to risk.
I sign this letter with deepest regret
That in my place is a high debt,
But as long as there is still a voice
I shall be strong–
–signed, yours truly, Choice.
Copyright Sarah Davidson 2020
