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I caught Fate
Scribbling on my parchment
And watched her pencil dance
Out the words ‘Gloom’.
So I came at her
With an eraser
And battered her G
For a B.
Then,
Chalk in aged hands,
She quavered
‘Grief’ on my slate.
But I washed them off
With salted tears
And made my slate
Tabula rasa.
Alas, she came again
Wielding a brush of Black ink
To paint me black ‘Death’
On my canvass.
Laughing, I made me ink
Of spittle and blood
And brush of beards
To paint Flowers in bloom.
