Choice

Do I choose wrong?

Do I choose right?

Or do I choose Choice?

They tell me, “It's not nice:

This choice of Choice.

It's almost a vice,

If the choice is Choice.”

But without this choice,

I can't hear my voice,

My feet freeze like ice,

Imagine my plight!

To breathe, to live,

Is not a vice,

It's a slice of life

Pretty and nice.

To soar in the sky,

To fight with might,

It's a slice of life

It's my choice.

And so I shall choose,

Neither wrong nor right,

For none shall suffice.

I choose Choice,

For it's not a vice,

It's a slice of life,

Pretty and nice.