50/50, place your bets.

Choose your side,

and commit.

The fools are the spectators

who refuse to pick.

 

It’s all chance anyway,

I heard the castors say.

But they laid traps underneath the tracks,

and I know my favorite horse won’t win.

So I sat there on the bench,

with a chill in my stomach,

and I watched. 

 

Some hate empty train stations,

or the coolness of a forever twilight.

The dread of a sun that never set,

the haunting woods for one’s final rest.

Trapped within branches,

as time slows,

and you know you can’t escape.

Yet some revel in the slowness,

in the nothingness,

where yes and no both exist.

 

The duality of a man

that refuses to choose. 

So he sits on the bench

like a fool, and watched

as a horse wins.

Perhaps it could’ve been his horse,

he thinks. 

But the thought of his horse 

losing,

was too much to bear,

so he just sat there,

Waiting.

 

50/50 so I gave him a coin,

and asked him to choose.

Pick a horse,

win or lose,

It’s all just a game anyways.

There will be more horses after this.

So take a side,

and commit.

The outcome does not matter

as much as the horse that you picked.