Feathers of Chance
 
The air of chance,
sometimes thick,
sometimes thin,
carrying sparkling visions from above,
be they enigmatic water or ice,
riding upon the wings of flight,
providing life for honesty and delusion,
shadows and light
across our created landscape of venture.
 
When first appears,
the crossroads for you
for me,
where love's furrows intersect war
and dandelions held tight by chubby hands.
wave innocently at rag patched warriors
whose tiny hands gripping triggered sticks
shout charges at pretended enemies?
 
Where stops these roils of winner obsessions,
these sinking intellects of satiated pabulum
drifting further and further from roads crossed,
leaving behind the wilting petals of tenderness
and time's perpetual gentle kisses?
 
Still…

Chance flies for everyone,
offering its descent or soar,
its pinions forever spread tirelessly,
shading the heat,
awaiting dawn's impending dusk,
gliding atop risk's ups and downs,
awaiting one’s everyday choices.

To float
or sink.

Yet…
 
A daily stroll through Thought
affords discovery of feathers large and small
passed from above,
floating reminders of life's molting,
allowing,
encouraging,
rewarding those
who allow replacement of the lost
with renewed innocence of discovery.
 
Dimpled fists,
whether clinched about some yellow blooming
or wrapped around forest wrought weapons,
eventually become mature with thought
or drowned in the irrelevant with ignorance.

Everyone can write something…
 
Scribes of possibilities
serve their feathers of chance,
these quills of tomorrow
capturing a fluttering past,
helping create tomorrow’s empowerment
whispered upon the lips,
upon the page,
upon the chalkboard of learning by the young.

Here is where the genesis of…

Trying a new word,
making up a word,
even repeating a cliché word,
is all part of the risk,
the chance to experience that elusive, quiet,
the creative mantra…

ah-hah.