Strange

Fate can be examined by the poor soul
Who succumbs to it, and, thus, though
He must spiral, moth to flame, to her
To flutter mutely nearby, he knows he
Is strange, and she, most likely, is
Uneasy. Who's this man who's too
Close, unasked, helping her to clean
Her cage? Someone who's caged
Himself, it seems, and borne along
A fated path which he can see, but
Cannot change, toward the one he
Must be near, who doesn't run, to
His surprise, though she sees he is
Strange.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 77 times
Written on 2015-12-22 at 00:15

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