the mythology of fate,
the predetermined script
held in the hands of those
to whom the gods themselves
bow in helplessness.
But I am glad nonetheless
that the churning Universe
created us in its blind
ferment,
and allowed me the privilege
of meeting the woman in the
quilted coat on that dreary
February night,
an event that changed
the biography of one
individual from the story of
withered pipe dreams
and dark loathing to
one where the light
of fragile hope was again
reborn, and a chance at
redemption
miraculously resurrected.
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2 comments:
mr. miller, while i enjoy reading your political blog a great deal, it compares not with the unique poetry you have on this one. I find your poems moving and artistic.
you should consider getting some of them if not all of them published.
Thank you, Zach.
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