The ways of chance

A poem in prose that tells what I feel about chance.

**Chance**

Let me tell you something about chance.
Chance is something that is in everyday life.
It will never stop being there.

Chance is something that you chase around like a blind baby, hoping to catch it.
Chance is the cloudy storm on a sailing boat out at sea.
Chance is when the hopes of not being noticed are three to four, but you still get beat up. 
Chance is the driftwood you lean on, your hope to be salvaged from your shipwreck of a life.
And when you are sleeping, it splinters and you sink to the dark abyss of the sea.

Chance is something that eludes you, evades you, makes you fall to the ground.
When you fall, you scrape your knees, your hands, your arms and your legs.
It makes the treasures in your pockets roll away and scatter, and you spend the rest of your life trying to get them back.

Chance is like the sea, always changing, never constant.
Chance is the wayward wind, playing with you like a leaf on a breeze. 
Who knows where it's going? Who knows where it's gone?

But chance will also have its shiny mornings.
Chance is like losing a penny and finding a dime.
Chance is when the hopes of rain are one to four, and still you get to dance with the warm raindrops on your skin.
Chance is when you stumble on the road, and a hand catches you just in time.
Chance is like finding your best  friend at your favorite store.
Chance is everchanging, evermoving, evermorphing.
Sometimes it favors you, sometimes it pointedly shuns you.
There are no true amulets to ward off bad luck.

Things happen, over and over, new things and old things, they will come 'round.
'Ware chance, my friend, for if it ever was to turn on you, even your best friends may turn their backs on you.

So, may the odds ever be in your favor.

Author's Note

First piece of writing! I hope you guys enjoy. Please comment too. Oh, and, while I do enjoy constructive feedback, please disguise your ill-meant comments as helpful bits of advice. Thank-u!