Ah yes,

The battle to stand facing skies of misty downfall.

I have drowned in this naked hovel, my future, once before.

An elegant sparkled palace, not.

Though not a rotted shell on last legs dwell.

Is it the inevitable that I feared or the aftermath of the reality?

A question for me to fondle to be sure.

React in haste of battle?

Or

Acceptance of fate.

What lunacy we pull upon our fleshy shoulders.

Clash for what was not ours to keep or thus label it a sham to save ones blasted ego.

Tis my hang about - fate is a mere sketch of avoidance.

An excuse for denial of fault that only a human weakness - could invent.

If not truth, would the wounded bird by arrowed point, be fate on his part?

Born to die by crafted tool?

 I trouble with such belief.

Acceptance was never meant to be surrender.

What then my answer be?

That change, no matter the garment it hides beneath, is evolution?

I cannot say.

But I will move beneath this, God’s tree, where faith resides.

And as the skies misty downfall feeds the foliage huge,

the answer I seek will arrive when moon and sun have past and come again.

In good time, it will be.

By: K. Mulroney

                                                             (V)

Picture By:  h.koppdelaney at flickr.com