We Are Accidents
Today, I was missed by a bullet
fired by a sniper in Syria,
a runaway train 10,000 miles from it,
and every swing of the
Grim Reaper’s scythe in between.
A repeat of so many days
of good coincidences.
Life is but an accident of time and geography,
we the beneficiaries of a random amnesty.
Tomorrow, I shall rise
and raise song unto the vaulting blue
for my privilege of sun.
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