Fate whistles as she waltzes,
duplicity in her has grown.
Proud of her independence,
somehow she dances alone.
She once did move so sweetly
enticingly offering much.
But now she does confuse for
double meaning gloves her touch.
Must we take what pasts she gave,
trustingly sure she does intend
to fashion bright tomorrows
from todays which do offend?
Or instead let tears flow fast
as disbelief spawns discontent,
“No, this was not your promise –
clearly not what you had meant!”
Should we seize control, step out
upon a brilliant, beckoning path
Sacrifice our no-fault lives
to make today’s aftermath?
Are we wrong to leave Fate the
responsibility, and blame,
For our precious destinies,
playing, no hope for refrain?
The moonless rain sounds heartless,
purple passion fades to despair.
Strains in three-quarter time float
from a bare ballroom somewhere.
