The Paralysis of Choice

When careful becomes reckless

The fruit grows soft while we decide
to pluck it, call it ours at last,
and still we wait, dissatisfied,
as sweetness spoils and time slips past.

How strange that those who fear to err
will err more gravely standing still:
the door that waited closes there,
the hour passes, as hours will.

We think ourselves so wise to pause,
to weigh each grain before we move,
yet time obeys no careful laws
and cares for nothing we would prove.

The mistake is not the path we take,
but standing still for perfection’s sake.

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