Poems and Stuff

Fate

What are you supposed to do?

Our destinies are written out,
like an ever-perfect script
carved out along a crumbling wall.

So do we conform to match our fates?
Or do we become something else entirely;
an example that a spark never meant to be lit
can very well spread into a wildfire,
just as simply as an earthquake can set off a volcano,
or a tsunami a mudslide of events
we never even felt the need to set our eyes upon?

The world is an unsolved puzzle of disaster.
Natural and man-made, an imperfect mix
along perfected and memorized lines.

We aren't meant to figure it out,
for the closer we believe we get
the further the solution scrambles out of reach.

But aren't we puzzles too?

Only fair.

The beggars can't be the choosers, after all;
but
if that's the case
does that make us the beggars
or the world?

Or perhaps a completely different force.

One far more perfected than that of our likes;
one that has completed it's puzzle
just to create us as another.

Maybe they're working on piecing us together
and as we scramble together just to fall apart
we're being pushed into the right places.

Perhaps we don't change our fates.

Perhaps our fates change us.

Or perhaps the fate, the destiny we're pulled so strongly toward in a void of our own confusion,
is the one we fought for all along,
and nothing ever really changes.

The mind truly is a strange place.

For you twist so much...
We tangle ourselves until we're nothing no matter how much we believe our worth.
We tangle ourselves until we're everything no matter how much we believe we're nothing.
We're everything.

And with that said,
I suppose my question has been answered.

We piece together our own puzzles.
We make ours into what we feel fit
and then we make our own;
we become that greater force.

Or...

We fall apart,
crumble with the crumbling walls and forgotten prophecies,
and then we crush ourselves under the weight
of the force we could have been.

-Hazard
July 21st, 2019