Our Flexible Selves

Do I have to be home for fate to knock on my door?
How specific is this metaphysical visit?
What if I get in trouble out here looking for more
And miss its knock? Would fate unlock my door and come in
Anyway to take what I lose and leave what I win?
When I do not believe that fate is real then is it?

Given the choice I would rather not deal face-to-face
With one who bears a scythe to cut down those of my race
Which is only part of being human after all
And I wonder if such cutting bears a sense of place
Or if those who can no longer stand it take the fall
For those who cannot stand it but stand in any case

If not at my door there might I miss the whole affair
Or wherever I go might fate (and its scythe) be there
As well? Neither heaven nor hell but purgatory

If I am anywhere at all I am only where
(Without so much as knocking) fate has tracked me to be
A free human being (at least temporarily)

The history of humankind is a sad story
Though a tale told by the victors you can see the cracks
In the walls by which we see the blood and cruelty
Inflicted on the victims which fate silently tracks
We see the winners never really won anything
Fate does not discriminate and this should dull the ache

We are judged by neither what we take nor what we bring
If we are judged at all it is only for the sake
Of ourselves since there is nothing we can bring nor take
But our flexible selves which bend and yet never break
And what this flexible self of mine would like to do
Is to give fate the slip and then to skip out with you

+Steven Curtis Lance



Copyright MMVIII