A time will come with choices to be made,
What will shape and change every single thing,
Where accidents will happen and lives will fade,
People will die with no farewell to be bade,
But wounds will all but heal, like first bloom in spring.

Choice has now become a human complexion,
The wrong can be deathly and precarious,
The right puts you on successful directions,
It all but comes down to the choice selection,
The life game is quick to act nefarious.

Is the choice for the greater community?
Will my choice be out of pure benevolence?
Or will it be of selfish malevolence,
My hope is a feeling of beneficence,
My choice could bring pure and utter unity.

Now my choice becomes harder and more complex,
What do all who have choice choose in times as these?
The choice of the many would surely appease,
The choice of the few is a social disease,
I can not choose with this fear of the prospects.