adventures in dysthymia

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Odds, a poem

Odds

I have seen the doors of destiny
open before me, seen the calm, cold stars
wink to life in the void. Hear their voices,

lifting songs that hold no key. Once I
learned such tunes, misunderstanding each
promise. Like that famous cat which is

alive and dead at once, these futures both
exist and don’t. Did I choose? Ask
the angels and the stars. Ask those beguiled

by the lurid signs along their roads.
Signs and wonders, portents of my fate,
point ever away from here. I’ve heard the whispers

of the hard-faced women on this street.
All the night, they whisper to each other,
laying odds. Which regret will I

ask to wear when they have done their weaving?
Tonight I count the stars. Their number must
add up to something, something I might believe.

Stephen Brooke ©2014

Being all poet-y and obscure

Post a Comment