Choices

If only I could, I would
    be a wildflower in May
Among the pining grass and open breeze
    welcoming raindrops and rays
Beneath a cloudless sky
    courted by the bees

If only I could, I would
    be a fire that warms
That burns without burning out
    one which melts stonecold pavements
On wintry eves and dawns
    during a friendless walk

If only I could, I would
    be a favorite melody
Hummed in between silence
    buoyed above oceans of deafening notes
The first morning tune
    the last lullaby song before bidding adieu

If only I could, I would 
    not be a thorn-less rose
Whose petals were  painted over
    sitting atop a tall oaken table
Seen through molded glass
   watered but deeply parched
   sunkissed yet shivery cold
 

I would choose, If only I could
   a world beyond judgment and name
But alas, some choices are not mine to make
   and those choices made me