How's it permitted that past circumstances should prevail;
yielding to commandments' tides, ancient, atonal dances,
tired inevitability at the keel, setting sail?
Cannot Will win over any, and all, circumstances?
What if a woman, though her lot in life's held far too low,
and the indignities rained upon her, far too many,
did not beg for shelter, no matter the winds that did blow,
but, realized the force of her foresight was uncanny?
What if a man, beyond his torment and sorrow, could sieze
the long-since forgotten pain of his own, true history;
that his childhood's most vile rape and the bruises on his knees
would heal, could he not then chart the plot of his destiny?
Brought together at the keel, they would master the chaos,
woman and man, proudly mapping their own navigation,
past prevailing winds, and the circumstantial tides that toss,
reckoning discovery of a new destination.