The woman was a prophet,
though many forgot it.
She read the fates for others,
she helped many lovers.
Never once did she look into her own soul,
she never tried to find what would make her whole.
But one day, she wished on a star—
that she could find a love that would go far.
A man with a long beard prophesied his fate,
said he would meet someone great,
who orbits the same star
and would understand him—till they fell apart.
His life was a crowded place—
full of strangers who had promised to stay.
The man forgot his roots, forgot where he came from.
His fate, too, was read by another—who failed.
She bears the weight of life in her womb
In quiet fortitude and strength in silence
Love flows from her hands, boundless, true
With every breath, she nurtures, she creates
A force of nature, shaping destinies and fates
In her heart, the universe is spun,
A mother, a warrior, whose battles are never undone
Through life's storms, through trials
She stands tall with a smile.
The beacon of resilience and of light
She gives, she grows with hands that heal
A love so deep blooms, it makes the world a home.
On International Women's Day
To Hades, black as ink, our souls shall sink,
And all our lives are gone within a wink!
Yet fleeting! E’er so fleeting! Though it be,
So well we love what leave the Fates decree.
The ending
hard
The ending
mean
Your future
soiled
But memory
clean
Your back bent
over
Your steps
misplaced
Your speech
a murmur
But one
last ace ...
A Robin
sits
Upon your
arm
And sings
of times
Forgotten
charm
And takes
your last
Begotten
breath
Upon its
wings
To fates
— regret
(Dreamsleep: December, 2024)
Birds sing
Grass is green
The air smells of new springtime spice
Soft rains
Come at night
It's nice to live in paradise
Air's pure
Water's clear
Then at last New York City calls
Fast train
First class cruise
All while the Eiffel Tower falls
Courts rule
Crimes set forth
And then they prove one is insane
Get caught
No escape
Hung on the wall, wrapped in chain
Souls lost
Spirits gone
Life itself becomes forlorn
Stumble once
Rise again
And in the end, one is reborn
If ‘Beethoven’s Fifth’ foretold fate
Rapping on humanity’s door,
Then what were Napoleon’s armies for?
When we challenge fate
By declaring war,
What dire results do we ignore?
Are all our beliefs
And Holy Scriptures,
Based on misheard 'Chinese whispers'?
The three Sisters
Are weaving ~
Caring not for your life;
Caring only for Their pattern.
Almost all people just try to steer
their own life cars
in their own ways,
few, through wide highways,
a great number,
through narrow lanes
with no gains
but in too many pains
so they all swear
at not what they haven't done
that they should have done,
but at their own fates
Two fresh plates to adorn my humble chariot.
The one on top had the honor of being mounted at the front,
as my customary parking pattern
is to back into a space on the far side of the garage.
But soft ... was it an honor?
To be figurehead, first to see, noble vanguard,
and yet,
bombarded for countless hours by suicidal bugs,
dust, gravel, and mud.
The rear plate will soon be far cleaner,
and has the quiet, reflective view of what has passed.
Though it might wish for the electric thrill
of seeing things first.
I wonder which the plate on top would prefer,
if it had more claim than its fellow below.
But fate granted me judicial clarity.
Top is front; bottom is back.
Different fates - each with their own charm.
Grow not envious, o plates.
Your positions both have great beauty.
18 November 2022
I dream of you late at night.
Far away in the darkness you stand.
Surrounded by a glowing light.
But I can not see your face.
Each night you take one step closer.
And your face is becoming clearer.
The closer you come the brighter the light glows.
An energy of love and healing.
As the nights pass the more I long to see your face.
I will soon.
Then one night I could feel you.
I could feel the love and healing you let off.
Your in my heart and soul now.
I can see you.
I can see your face.
first herd was the path
to get crowd immunity,
get rid of COVID
second herd must live with it
now, all in the herd get it
what happened just now
is what I had dreamt about
it was déjà rêvé
my brain churned through memories
to predict perchance fated
Age's bloodiest showdown looms,
Or such it seems by its lurid form;
Spirit's sharpest arrows must fly
Swifter than is their agile-witted norm.
Now Armageddon's most savage sword
Cruelest aim of softest landings takes,
Though target's dexterous fightback
Its most foolproof arsenals stakes.
Thus unfolds time's deadliest flare
Under high heaven's beneficences;
Watching on with an eye dimly fair,
Umpiring blows with arcane mien.
And though its yet baffling to tell
What dismal odds in virtue's favor stand,
Eons of war-waging jurisprudence repel
Smiling wins for Gaol's tempestuous fates.
The Three Fates
by Robert J (Bob) Moore © 2021
Sometimes, I wake up in the morning
three women on my mind
one who holds the string of life
and one who stands behind
She is there to make the measure
of how long our time may be
a lifeline which we all must have
then moves it on to number three
The third one has the scissors
to cut the golden thread
and we no longer have the time
to say those things unsaid.
So say to those around you
the things you want to say
love them and be there for them
you do not know of that last day
The Fates will make their move
and the string of life will end
and when those scissors snip that golden thread
then it’s too late my friend
The poor man calls at Halloween
with wretched teeth and bandaged gleam.
For naked truth to dariaged dream
of crimes gone by for so obscene.
That all man knows
that poor is funny
When all who beg
are lost for money
That crimes gone by
are things to change
When all that time
was fates arranged
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