Tickling Fate
Fate’s feet wait for the moment,
Clinging to a blade of grass,
Like a tick clinging on a loment,
Waiting for the unknowing to pass.
Sometimes as high as the thigh.
More often as low as the toe,
Always seeking the mind’s eye,
With deft wisdom to bestow.
Climbing between layers,
Or simply rambling within view,
Tiny steps of these stayers,
Keep ascending tried and true.
Upward toward the head,
Continuing on the trek,
Pausing at the last thread,
Finally reaching the neck.
Passing over skin,
A slight tickle might be sensed,
Thoughts begin within,
Subtle doubts form against.
A favorite place to hide,
Is just behind the ear,
Allowing proper time to abide,
Until one is finally ready to hear.
Written on 3/12/18 for the contest Fate's Footfalls sponsored by John lawless.
Copyright © Michael Vacek | Year Posted 2018
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