"Call It Destiny"

"Call It Destiny"

A Poem by Sir_Anonymous
"

Wrote this one the month after my father passed, I Had taken a break from writing after the first week of his death. This is me stretching my writing hand to see if I still had the ability to do so.

"

So hey, been a long while but after taking some time off and racking my head around the long mile I can finally emerge from the ground and make a figment of my old smile.


I ain't having fun, not gonna lie life is tough and once I had said I like a good challenge in life, some good ol' trials of strife.. but this? This is nothing I had in mind, this is just playing rough.


However, be it as it may be and maybe there is none but my own self to blame but I can't help but continue to think that perhaps on the off chance it was just fate preordained.


I mean we all gotta go someday and sometimes too soon is all it can be, guess by the moment you're born you have a sealed fate just a path with a ending in sight. How it ends though isn't up to you, well isn't that just nice?


A full lifetime of living all but a full life, some lose by the time they can read while others get to choose to cut off the gloom and the melancholy blue is proof to the deed.


Sometimes breathing is not meant for us all as the stillborn never opens their gaze. Suppose they are "lucky" to never know what pain and regret is, but what of the few that could have made a real difference? A cure in the future, a innovation or a new ruler to a better nation, a sovereignty to true salvation.


Gone, just to never get the chance at making those ideals into a reality. Guess it's fate.

The words of the many would just say-


"Destiny took place."


Choose as you like but the writing remains, written in mixture of odd remnants of fiction and realism. Try as you may but you can't escape.


Hidden behind a screen, a frame that doesn't allow the wilting flower to bloom, a picture to imagine but the complete image is forever damaged.


Now just stop to think that little ol' me is still what you could claim to name "unique" just because I can be creative and destructive all at the same moment of time, Hello my identity is mankind.


Humanity is caught in the bog of a desolate swamp named promptly to be the cursed green envy of Adam's and the Eve's sins for consuming the forbidden fruit of mystery.


Just food for the thought of misery but what of the plague that has ridden us of our humility? What greater power out there is here to beg for answers? 


Depicting the story of the world in the walls of words and textbook descriptions from the congregation of scriptures written by lowly beings of men.


People grovel and kneel to the united forces in the earth and sky, seeking prosperity and protection from neighboring areas set to the off skirts as they are the "true" definition of greed and the greatest barbaric entity of an enemy.


Meanwhile the "enemy" is just some struggling township of folk who road and roamed far and wide to find a place to seek refuge from the reformation in their old home's because nowhere was safe, had to escape and so thus they fled Rome.


Heads on pikes, torn asunder from the booming crowds roaring for blood like the clouds ask for rain of thunder all for being a "filthy hieratic." For what reason? Treason was decided by the spice of life to their season's the god they worship had a slight different origin and name.


Now who's to blame?


If the almighty is real, than doesn't that mean he or she perhaps it, is just plain old and sadistic?

War and famine, chronic disease of guilt and illness all exist within a state of bliss but in order for that to happen it would have to had been the all knowing's creation.


Omnipotent and potent, opinionated and over spoken. Spread the message but not the facts nor the true context of this misconception.


Call it destiny, call it fate, call it however you wish but to me it all stays the same. No matter the era or the number of millennia that have passed.


The blood has long since dried but the souls still writhe, screams of eternity for living all but only a century. All begging to live still filled with regret but the equivalent that all cursed to be born to share is-


Death...

        

                                            

© 2018 Sir_Anonymous


Author's Note

Sir_Anonymous
So tell me what you think.

My Review

Would you like to review this Poem?
Login | Register




Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

137 Views
Added on October 16, 2018
Last Updated on October 16, 2018
Tags: Destiny, Reality, Death, Hardship, Contemplation, Self Reflection

Author

Sir_Anonymous
Sir_Anonymous

Austin, TX



About
I was once a teen who found himself feeling cornered in life where just about nothing was going right and could never really speak my mind this only pushed more towards the construction of this artifi.. more..

Writing