~Fate~

Where were we,
those years ago
that we should forget
such simple things--
small lives
in small dreams
we cast out
for duller trappings,
bright wings
pushed aside by
maturity,
by fear
of being needled
to the scratched table.
When did Fate
first draw
Her hand up,
that we should miss
that initial dealing--
the dice have become
irrelevant
before Her possesive eye,
held firmly
in the Mother's
taloned hand
twisted;
spin and measure,
tear and
treasure
those pure moments,
caught
'twixt tarnished
shears.
Perhaps we cannot
answer,
now;
truth buried
in flows of
inumerable times
we censored the albums,
cutting and pasting
the lives we lied
like some grand
kindergarten collage--
even then we ran
like the wind
from denial
when we didn't
understand the word,
not knowing
it breathed the heartbeat
of our dreams.
And it is in that
laughter,
when we loved
with such purity
yet hated so
much,
that the sky changes
once again
to Her bidding--
we die out
those illusions
predestined,
dancing mad to
the rythm we hold
obsessively
in our arms
without caring that
we cannot break
those binding
strings
of Fate.



~(c)10/2000 The Mad Poet (A.K. LaBelle)