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[su_dropcap style=”flat”]H[/su_dropcap]er callous dispatch dictates his mind call the question.
Not the cause but the pebble that tips the proverbial boulder-filled cart.
He asks, “Time to call upon the dark or consent to the dimly lit”?
One a conversant but slow demise, the other a precarious proposition;
His ache pleads for merciful end, equivocal fate dictates pause.
Choice certain of consequence, yet uncertain of nature;
As relief and obligation vie for mind’s position; fear and legacy compete for place;
Leave them with burdensome inheritance or encumber them by continued presence?
What if fate comes not from choice, but rather by vantage?
Reaching but conceivable notion, one that acquits him of burden.
Outcome altered by view not by will; absent of choice, thus absent of sense;
A random event, no fault, no ascription, and no measure of consequence.
Consequence imagined but intangible.
Those in the dark speak not, reveal nothing;
Neither pious nor secular certainty afford comfort.
A rub that gives him pause, once again blocking exit but sure to surface again;
Compelled to remain, imprisoned by view; he waits.