Your poem

Why should I trust a god who turns up late?
The circumstances chafe me, urge me choose
And you, my old companion, turn the screws.
A voice is whispering - it's getting late
To learn the script and play my way to fate.
For if I don't, what reason can I use?
But if I do, the freedom is to lose.
If this is higher volume - that has weight
As balancing a reason with a song,
How will I know? Some things can't be compared.
I love the truth, but how to find what's true,
To know the way, not hesitate too long,
For nothing in this world has been prepared,
So toss the coin - it's all that I can do.