“Do not be afraid; our fate
Cannot be taken from us; it is a gift.”
― Dante Alighieri, Inferno

A rose in December,
when it snows in July,
as far as we know
the expected will die.

Common sense has infirmities
deformities, affinities
to pie in the sky;
as we try to get by.

Nothing happens too late
that isn’t taboo
a floating moon slips
above stone-built walls,
a story of endurance:
illiterate, is all.

We don’t know nothing.
I’m certain of that,
a waxing moon lingers
in the darkening sky
as centuries float by….

My eyes deceived by promises,
by wishes left unmade, on the way to the grave;
abiding luck in a shaman’s eyes
she whispers a stuttering goodbye.

Don’t rely on promises
made beneath the moon
a birth or a death
can happen too soon.

Just pray to get through the day.
say that I love thee
not to death
but far-far beyond,
where the meagre words
of this sing-song-song
will carry you along.

?si=-30Gg0xODCmPnY5u