Destiny is desperate for attention
It likes to rub our noses in the predictions, the failures we are all too familiar with,
Those we recognize, much too effortlessly, as the consequence of our limitations
It appreciates the wind and breeze,
The aural quality to a storm filled summers’ night,
The sounds comfort spells to children stirred in fright
Beyond designation, sexless and inherently correct, destiny is a classification unto itself,
It loves the delicate nature of creation,
How a simple greeting planted in one’s ear
Can steer a conversation
Dictate a lifetime to follow
For good or worse
The experiments it plays on us,
Are always unrehearsed,
It is neither from darkness nor from light
Just a figure ever present, burning bright,
Guiding, leading, beginning, ending,
All creatures, great and small, are pawns and pieces
In the never ending game it plays, awake or sleep,
Wrong or right, it changes the rules of the fight,
Altering the strategies, adding and removing, integrating the challenges,
That test the will of man, obstacles he must overcome, in order to survive,
It endlessly monitors, every thought, every action, in this confusion each of us play
