Stroke of Fortune
bang on the midnight hour she woke from her terror
suffocating her eyes popped out of orbital spheres
nerves exposed and dangling tears in front of the truth
not that long ago she had danced in moonshines of joy
bells and whistles attached to silken colourful dreams
now her lullaby had become an epitaph of surrender
she clutched at the straw in the coffin and inhaled
one last breath filled her lungs and screamed as if
to loosen the nails of the casket for one final time
one of which clawed its way into her frontal lobe
she could smell earthworms and scented pastoral voices
almost slipped on the marble of the polished grave stone
the straw tasted of raspberry sorbet and whipped cream
self-flagellation removed the sour icing on the last cake
and she stroked the cotton cloth with her calloused hands
transcended a highway to heaven and took leave of her fear
a crowd of bigoted mourners took flight and ate their words
when she offered no retribution but unconditional kindness
her nightmare’s clarity offered a way to step out of the pit
the pendulum of self-incrimination pierced moribund scares
at the stroke of midnight the sunrise welcomed a new dawn
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