DESTINY WITH WINGS
Never think the willow bends
because it wants to; rather it as
formed that way. There is no
impartial lathe to aid this
milling. Destiny is character,
as is said, and those who reach
for self can sometimes find.
There is some culprit within us
each that makes us what we are.
The tune of genes. The mark
of selection. The world is One,
yet we are twenty, with that
One. Apart yet a part - of the
lighted reach, the coming star,
the faded glory, the waning blaze.
The coming and the going, together.
All things at once, in a furnaced
fire too bright to see, and too
dark to overlook.
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