Apples or oranges, safety or fright,
These are the things that will tempt us at night.
Caring for others and wanting the right,
Shrinking from others, the lonely one's plight,
Tempting to stand fast and tempting to flight.
Make some decisions; they're all black and white.
Grasp indecision; the choices are blight.
Choose to set free? Or choose to indict?
"Life is but choices," the thinking one might
Start to conclude, in his thoughts, erudite,
But that would be hopelessly, foolishly trite.
Temptation would have us believe that we choose,
Sifting our options to win or to lose,
Autonomous selves lost in Kantian muse.
What self-absorbed twaddle! What bile! What hell!
Hopeless Pavlovians, slaves to the bell.
Bound to decide, and choose poorly as well.
"Who will rescue me from this body of death?"