Fate is an unpredictable mistress.
She paints a world of shadows.

I stood against her and her tides of despair.

Fanning the fields of hope,
realizing that she was a joke,
that I was the joke.
Painted faces reflect in the mirror,
a golden man lie on my shore
His cascading smile,
iridescent liquid pearls
bleed across my breast.
No elbow room at his feeding trough.
Ironing wrinkled fields
of disenchantment.
Writing notes of the joke
which is she.
Stories unfold,
the truth remains untold.
Yes, fate is an unpredictable mistress.

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