A Touching Story

Is Luck a lady? I don't know.
If so, she's stupid, as am I,
Her chosen stooge, her second
Midas, turning everything to gold:
My house, my toys, my four fine
Children and their children, and,
Of course, my idle life. I'm without
Cares or purpose. I stand, head
Hung, on the edge of a retaining wall.
I wave my arm and all around me
Useful things are wracked with gilt,
While I, incapable of joy, defy that
Lady. I proclaim myself unlucky.
Here is why: like Midas, I perceive
The wreckage, issuing from my good
Fortune, as great weights submerging me.
I'm apt to perish soon enough. Madame
Luck, you may mean well, but you are
Killing me.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 24 times
Written on 2021-07-07 at 04:35

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