Journey To Happenstance Lane

Once a sitting target, A scapegoat, an easy mark, Pushed and over, merged as one, Chiseled free of bark. The root of cruel suffering, Wraps its vine and log, A pigeon, a stooge, An injured underdog. Behind its face an easy make, A casualty of dreams, A martyr, a victim. A fatality it seems? Prey to stay and pray to go, A wretch cures her dawn, A fool, for long awaiting, An arm’s length to her pawn. An unexplained adventure lurks, A light from the sky, No plan, no theme or government, Or answers as to why. The journey to the nearby land, Unknown and dark with fear, Free from the mossy grasp, She cloaks herself with sheer. Her flesh is bare, exposed and dry, Vulnerable to the elements too, She takes her cross and pulls it down, And carries it right through. The webs, the depths, the overgrowth, Doesn't stand a chance, She walks on down that narrow path, The one he calls happenstance.