In the Hands of Fate

On a distant beach of silver sands,
next to a churning violet sea,
sits a tall and pale red-headed girl
with a dying heart of obsidian black,
her face iridescent with ice-blue tears.

She watches the relentless surf,
her loneliness carries on the moaning gusts.
She lifts her arms, implores the watching gods
that somewhere quests a single kindred soul
in desperate hope of finding only her.

Under an unfeeling yellow moon
a wounded white knight walks alone,
years of ivory patience unrewarded.
Crimson drops of deafening isolation
stain the ground with his fading golden dreams.

In shadowed depths, a cavern ‘neath the sunlit Earth,
A triad of blind immortal women hold flaxen cords and scissors.
They cut and weave a destiny for all the world’s lost souls.
Wind whispers plea, bloodied stone roars,
and startled busy hands stop their eternal work.

Among the myriad fabrics of unfinished lives
a pattern forms with two gilded, shining threads.
Upon the frozen faces of three emotionless entities
appear unfamiliar smiles as their handicraft progresses,
the beauty in creation apparent to their empty eyes.

In the oft capricious hands of fate,
despite barriers of different time and place,
two separate waves now move toward convergence.
A tapestry of storm-tossed lives may unfold
into one enduring cloak of strength and love.

*

For Lord Joseph, who gave his hand, his heart, his sword, forever.