The Estrangement of Fortune and Justice

I’m sorry that this isn’t anything to do with the ‘Deadwoods’ series that I had planned. I had written some things out for it, and even created some maps, but my life is a little bit too compressed at the moment to really write anything but patchwork poems that are unrelated – and even they are few and far between. However, here is one I’ve been writing over the past two days.

Adversity presents all with a domain
irrespective of the tools in our hands.
Weathered by time, remnants shall remain
of the creeping overgrowth we sought to restrain.
A fable charred into all living lands.

Some wear circlets of evergreen laurels,
others, crowns of willow that weep in Winter.
The fate of the garden of denizens floral
gravely imperiled; when the breeze turns boreal
petals shall fall watching sentience splinter.

And the passage through needle barbed woods
is transfigured by a footstep’s press.
Whether the path is patently understood
or just the phantasm of leaden falsehood
lies beyond the flair the traveler possessed.

On the pauper’s trail gnarled roots converge
when aspen leaves shelter the gilded few.
Concealed is the ground to which one shall emerge;
a verdurous meadow, perhaps a sweeping verge,
perhaps a scorched grove to be ambled through.

Extolled are all by a birdsong choir.
Hear the goldfinch cry or the starling sing,
unless the clouds darken and songbirds retire
for the vultures to come with a ballad of fire;
a strain to scourge every element of Spring.

Now bridged must be the whispering waterside,
where a vessel is docked for the sake of some.
The ferryman demands a levy to ensure your ride;
lest secure passage be sorely denied
leaving Stygian depths to chill you numb.

The wave’s crest caresses citadel stairs;
ascend, for you’ve completed your crusade.
Evading constantly a glorious glare;
a city within eternal solitaire,
bathed in the august pantheon’s shade.

Justice holds the seed in her hand
bequeathing each to a single soul.
Fortune plants it within soil or sand
fertilising flowers with odds unplanned,
as we fix our dreams to celestial poles.

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