What is this fate which breaks the will of men?
That insidious grim stealer of magic and dreams,
Unyielding face with gritty voice, black cloak.
What caricatures of men live a lie?
That all can survive, and some may live large,
In deep worn trances, rich in rhythmic chants.
What concerns for other’s lives touch men’s souls?
That divine breath which transcends mortality,
From long forgotten ancient memories.
What is this life that ripples in men’s hearts?
That bridges knowing, love and restless grief,
Gift wrapped in a weave of human thread.
© David R. Durham