Two Poems by Sandra Bradshaw

The Debtor

I would offer you something – but everything I have

is either
borrowed or stolen.

Stolen from the bulk of Humanity which can claim

nothing as its own.

The faintest smile; the slightest moment of respite…
belongs to others.

The despair of the millions; the agony of those
death claims slowly…

is no less mine.

The – Debt – Is – So – Great.

Nothing is transferable…
no negotiating.

Where then in this barren womb is the renewal?
What is there of nourishment for the “intangible”?


but the dying
conviction reflected
in familiar, trusted eyes.

Unqualified commitment is the only Redemption.

* * * * *

The Choice

Where now?

Perhaps there is hope for life someday – but not for our lives.
Perhaps there is hope for happiness somewhere – but not for us.

No expectations– only the acceptance of the Void– the profound, inexpressible void…
That all-encompassing vacuum which demands from us that we function according to Duty.

Who is keeping score in this absurd game? Will it never end?
And who makes the rules?

Such trickery!

If we wanted to “win” … we would have already lost–

pitifully so.

But I wonder … when it is all tallied … when it is asked:

“Which wars did you choose? Which battles did you wage?”

Who could answer better than we?

For did we not have a high road to travel and the way made clear?
Did we not find the depth of oneness never before encountered?

… a moment being equal to a lifetime?

What greater heights could we have reached?

Did we not see life… and prefer death?

Is there not some Victory in the choice of Reality?