My fate cries out And makes each petty artere in this body As hardy as the Nemean’s Lion’s nerve.

Fate sits in a drawer in the closet.
It’s crowded in there. Fate is tangled up with an old phone chord,
7 dead batteries, a small flashlight, an assortment of keys that no one
knows the locks for. It shares space with a baseball card,
a smattering of paper clips and a doorknob.
Dust and lint jockey for room in there.
Fate is waiting. It’s listening. It knows it is not up to much
In this moment – but at just the right prompt, when the moment arrives
It will burst forth and take over.
Fate will seize its moment, surge ahead –
There will be no stopping it.


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